Avengers: Generations
by imaAvenger
Summary: The Avengers fought and won the battle for peace. HYDRA is gone. AIM doesn't exist. But as evil disappeared, so did the team from the public eye. Normality entered their lives and they didn't give it up for 25 years. Now 2042, the Avengers' kids are faced with a returning evil. Their lives are woven together by a force that can only described as destiny. (Four years in the making)
1. Prolouge or The Beginning of the End

**A/N:** Hello all! Kelli here with the story that's been four years in the making! I think about a year ago I posted an author's note introducing the idea for this to the public, and I received plenty of excited responses, and now it's ready to be posted and enjoyed. "Why the gap?" you may ask, the answer is, at the time I thought it was ready to post, but little did I know that this idea would develop and become a whole series—a whole universe on its own. The idea was birthed from a thought and my love of The Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes tv show. I wanted so badly for the show to continue, I decided to make it happen. And so comes Avengers: Generations.

This series will be a continuation of Earth-8096's timeline in real time i.e. moving from the year the series ended (2012), and span over several seasons, that is if you—the reader—enjoy it. I have big plans both for plotlines and my original characters, also including characters I feel should have been introduced or more incorporated in the original series. Avengers: Generations is set in the year 2042 and focuses on the legacy Tony Stark's Avengers left after the show, namely their children. This first chapter is a set up for the future, and may seem confusing, but as the story progresses, hopefully you'll start to see how everything connects. I plan on posting flashback chapters focused on a particular character that minds the gap left by the series and my series. So don't worry!

I just want to take a minute to thank all the people who have helped me with this story over the past four years. My friend Nicole, who encouraged me to pursue the idea to begin with. My good friend Asa, who has helped me and critiqued my work in its many developmental stages. The many shows and show writers whose shows I've drawn inspiration from such as Young Justice, Spectacular Spider-Man, Wolverine and the X-Men, and many more. My brother Joshua, for listening to me ramble on and on about my ideas. My mother, for proofreading and encouraging me. My dog Libby for putting up with my long hours of writing in bed. And my Beta reader, Penpal678910 for helping me in so many ways! She's why this story is ready to be read by human eyes other than the people listed, haha.

So, without further ado, my brain child, my baby, the universe in my head, Avengers: Generations.

Please enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Marvel, Avengers: EMH! or the original characters and series from which this story stems. But I do own my original characters, places, plotlines and continuing timeline involved in the story, and hope one day Marvel will notice it.

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 **New York City, New York. Monday, December 12th, 2016. 10:43 am.**

The team stands together on the raised stage, donning their uniforms and staring out into the sea of reporters and cameras gathered below them. When the Avengers began their journey, they never imagined they would end up like this, standing in the main conference room of the United Nations building. But they called this meeting for a reason and it concerns the entire world.

Steve anxiously looks down at his wrist watch. It's almost time for them to go on air and Tony hasn't shown up yet. Hank and Janet were the first to arrive, other than Steve himself, and Clint and Bobbie had followed in behind them. T'Challa even flew all the way from Wakanda to be here, but the Starks live practically down the street and they're late. Steve feels a heavy hand lay on his shoulder.

"The Vision assured us they will be here," Thor reminds him. The tall, muscular demi-god offers a smile to his friend, and the Captain nods his head, breathing in deeply.

 _He's right,_ Steve thinks. _They'll be here. Maria is probably holding them up. They will be here_. Steve hopes his android friend can hurry them along, but thinks about how difficult his infant niece can be for the new parents. And, just for a moment, thinking back a few months when Maria was born begins to lessen the wad of nervous energy building in his stomach. The day Tony and Pepper made him their daughter's godfather was a day he'd not soon forget. Ever since Steve has been brought back from the icy depths of the past, there's been a constant feeling that he doesn't belong, he told himself he'd never have a real family again. But after years of living, working and fighting alongside them, Steve was more than happy when he realized his team was his family.

The blonde smiles to himself as he watches his friend's interacting with each other. Hank and Janet sit close together at the far right end of the stage. Their fingers are intertwined and the hazel-eyed genius wipes a tear away from his red-headed fiancé's face. Clint and Bobbie are seated behind him, whispering excitedly about their plans to move to California since Bobbie's departure from S.H.I.L.E.D. Steve's eyes cast towards Thor who smiles widely at Jane, his caring companion that waits in the crowd along with half of the world's leaders and country's news stations. T'Challa's dark frame is planted firmly next to the Barton's, but his chocolate eyes constantly survey the sloped conference room. He watches people coming and going from the many rows of pull down seats, even spotting the familiar faces of Iron Fist, Luke Cage, Scott Lang and his daughter, and The Fantastic Four in the crowd.

Even though a couple of Avengers weren't able to make it—Spider-Man in school, and Falcon on mission for S.H.I.E.L.D.—there's something about this that feels right. Something in this moment feels meant to be. The main eight here, together. They know that today could be a sad day, but the calmness they all display says they've known this was coming all along. The feeling is hard to describe, but somehow, there's no dread or pain in their decision. There's no emotional weight clouding their judgment, or nostalgia steering their thoughts. Today isn't a sad day, and the only word Steve can think to capture the feeling—is peace. His teammates are at peace. At peace with their decision to disband the Avengers.

"Stark is late again, I see," sounds Nick Fury's voice beside the Captain. Steve faces the recently former Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. with a grin.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Steve replies. The one-eyed man chuckles and shakes Steve's hand. "Glad you could come and make me nervous," Steve adds. The dark, trench coat wearing man simply smiles and views the crowd of ambassadors and dignitaries conversing amongst each other in the cramped conference room.

"Quite a crowd for this important announcement of yours," Nick points out with a wink. Fury was informed of the team's decision to step down a few weeks ago, enough time for S.H.I.E.L.D. to make preparations for the Avenger's absence. That is, before he himself stepped down as Director, handing over trust and control to Daisy Johnson. The young and powerful woman who became his right hand during the Secret Invasion.

More and more people seem to be filling in the crowded room by the minute, and finally, the President of the United States has arrived. He seats himself with the other world leaders towards the back rows of chairs. Steve straightens at the sight of the Commander in Chief and the finality of the situation hits him.

 _This is happening._

Now only if Tony Stark will show up. "Five minutes until we're live," warns a young man with a clipboard below the stage. The reporters in the front row are readying their recorders and all cameras are trained on the podium that Steve's speech sits on.

"That's my cue," Nick says. "Good luck." He pats Steve on the back and steps off the stage, taking his place standing amongst the crowd since all the seats are now filled as announcement time nears. The Captain takes a breath and motions for his friends to gather near him.

"Where's Tony?" Clint asks, annoyance clearly audible in his tone. Bobbie rolls her aqua eyes and assures Steve he's coming.

"Even if he doesn't show up, you still have to make the speech," Hank reminds him.

"I know, and I will," Steve says. "But we have five minutes to change our minds."

The statement draws mixed reactions.

"This is what we all wanted," T'Challa says.

"I never wanted to do this," Janet interjects but Hank shoots her an unhappy glare.

"Friends, we are no longer needed in such a manner," Thor reminds them. "Besides that, it is imperative that I return to Asgard."

Bobbie speaks up, "I agree with goldilocks over here. All of us need a break."

"Everyone calm down." Steve exhales heavily. "I just wanted us to be sure. Because once we tell the world the Avengers are stepping down, there's no going back." The Captain stretches out his arm to the middle of the team's makeshift huddle, his fist tightly clutched. "Are we together on this?"

The question hangs in the air a moment, each clearly considering his words. Clint glances at Bobbie, raising his eyebrows expectantly. She nods and they both place their hands on top of Steve's. "We're with you," he says.

Thor is next to add his hand. "Asgard needs me now." Hank gladly adds his hand to the mixed pile in the center of the circle and Janet begrudgingly follows. T'Challa glances around the circle of friends, meeting each one's eyes before laying his hand on top.

"Our time has passed, my friends," he says. "It has been an honor to work alongside Earth's Mightiest."

Steve nods and, for the last time, the Avengers Assemble. They break apart, all standing behind him supportively as Steve steps up to the podium, looking out at the anxiously awaiting crowd. Off stage, the young man with the clipboard counts down to air time on his hand. 5…4…3…2…

"Good morning, I'm Regina Wells," a chipper reporter in front of the raised stage says. "We're interrupting your regular television programming to bring you a live, special national newscast. The Avengers have called together a U.N. meeting that concerns all of us." The young lady looks up to the stage and smiles. "Captain America will now address the nations. Take it away, Captain."

Steve nods, shakily holding his index cards in his hands. As soon as the cameras are on him, he freezes. His words stick to his throat and a bead of sweat runs down his forehead.

 _I can't do this,_ he thinks.

Steve's blue eyes fixate on the double doors at the back of the room, knowing he can't make this speech unless Tony walks through them soon. The Captain wonders if it's too late to postpone and he notices the reporters below the stage silently begging him to say something. With his eyes still trained towards the back and the silence becoming unbearable, he spots a familiar set of faces finally push through the doors. Tony Stark's signature smirk accompanies him down the sloped aisle, along with baby Maria in Pepper's arms, and the Vision trailing behind them. The family of three find a place to stand in the crowd while the android joins the team on the platform. Steve's eyes lock with Tony's for a moment. He offers a reassuring wink and the nervous Captain sighs.

 _Now everything is right._

Steve clears his throat. "Ladies, gentlemen, and allies from around the world, thank you for coming all this way to listen to me," the Captain lightly begins. "I know we probably scared you when we called this meeting, but I assure you, it's nothing to be afraid of." He smiles and the crowd chuckles.

"Over the past four years, the Avengers have had the opportunity to do great things. Great things that have initiated acts of peace around the world," he continues. "Super criminal organizations are not something of a normality anymore, and thanks to the faith the nations have in us, we've helped the world work together to achieve a common goal, Peace." He pauses, and looks out to Tony, the hero who handed him the reins of leader to start a family several years ago, who's proudly holding his thumb above the crowd to encourage his friend.

The Captain smiles back at the man and carries on. "But we're not here today to talk about what this team has accomplished. We're here to announce to the world that after intense discussion and many weeks of careful consideration by each member—current and reserved, the Avengers have decided to put that same amount of faith in S.H.I.E.L.D. and S.W.O.R.D. and step down. The Avengers team is disbanding."

For a fragment of time, the world stops turning. The room is still and quiet enough to hear the nervous heartbeats of everyone present. And just as suddenly as the world stopped, it begins turning again. The entire room erupts into a jumbled mess of questions, comments, and concerns.

"What are you thinking, Captain?"

"But we need the Avengers!"

"How do you think the world will react to this outrageous idea?"

"What if the Kree or Skrull come back?"

"What if someone reforms Hydra?"

The verbal bombardment ceases when Steve raises his hand. The hundreds of questions deafening him now quiets to an unsettled murmur, and he explains. "Yes, I know this may sound like a harebrained proposal, but I assure you, it's within reason. The Avengers have served the world for over six years, and during those six years, we've given up everything for the good of the public. Hydra and super villains aren't a constant threat looming over us anymore, and if we can be honest, we're tired. Many of us have started families or intend to one day," Steve gestures to Tony and Pepper in the crowd, and his teammates behind him. "And isn't it the right of every person to want something that resembles normal, even superheroes? Don't we deserve to pursue the American dream?"

The room is quiet as Captain America continues to explain his team's decision. Everyone around the world is either listening or watching the compelling speech Steve offers, even the Avengers unable to be there.

 **S.W.O.R.D. Space Station, Earth's Orbit. 10:48 am.**

Carol watches the Captain closely on a monitor in her office, hanging on his every word. She knew eventually the team she walked away from more than a year ago would want what she had strived so hard to get.

"Commander Danvers," echoes a voice in her earpiece. "Your husband is on line four."

"I'll call him back," she insists, not wanting to miss a minute.

"He wanted me to mention your son is attempting to speak," the girl tells her. But she keeps her eyes on the screen as Captain America continues his speech.

"My team and I fully trust S.H.I.E.L.D. to take our place, and we hope that you will understand where our hearts are. There's only so much we can sacrifice for the greater good. S.H.I.E.L.D. and many other heroes around the world are just waiting for their chance to serve and protect, so let's allow them that chance. The chance to be Earth's Mightiest Heroes."

 **Waypoint, Maine. 10:49 am.**

Steve's voice carries through the taxi Bruce rides in. The small-framed man is clean shaven and wears a purple button up shirt, khaki pants and dress shoes, an extreme contrast to what he would normally wear. He listens to the radio and smiles, thankful Steve allowed him to leave the Avengers prior to their announcement for personal reasons.

Bruce's cab comes to a halt in front of a pale yellow, wooden townhouse in the heart of small-town USA. A scenic little city in the middle of a harbor. He steps out of the cab with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and walks up the whitewashed porch of the home. Bruce hesitantly rings the doorbell and waits for an answer. A few minutes pass and a lovely young lady opens the door. Her dark brown eyes stare at his for a second, and the two quickly embrace each other, both dropping everything to savor a moment they've been denied for years.

"I missed you so much," the girl whispers.

"I missed you too, Betty," Bruce replies softly.

 **Main Conference Room, U.N. building, New York City, New York. 10:51 am.**

"We're people just like you, who want a life of our own. But we're not leaving you without protection. We'll still be here. We're still willing to drop everything in a minutes notice to protect our world, we simply don't feel that a team of superheroes is necessary in the time of peace we worked so hard to attain," Steve concludes. Flashing cameras and reporters with their microphones outstretched wait for the Captain's final words to be spoken.

"On behalf of the Avengers, we hope you accept our decision and know that, no matter what happens to our team," Steve looks back at his team, his friends, his family one last time. "We are still Avengers."

The crowd roars with questions and clapping, but through the chaos the team stands together, ready for this new adventure. They could remember this day as something sad, or the end of an era, but they choose to see today as an opportunity. An opportunity for a new start. A new start that can change their worlds forever.

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 **A/N:** Ready for the first chapter? Also, the cover pic was made by me! I will try to keep a posting schedule of a chapter a week, so chapter one will probably be next week...but I may post earlier.

Hey I just posted this...and this is crazy...but since you've read it...review It maybe?


	2. Chapter 1: When You're Ready

**A/N:** Hi everyone! I'm back with the first OFFICIAL instalment of Avengers: Generations! This chapter is the first to take place in the future and I hope everyone enjoys the family it's centered around...*drum roll* the Starks! You'll find much has changed but not too much. Snarky humor and family feels await. I know it's not much, but it's vital and necessary to the storyline. Hopefully everyone will enjoy this chapter as much as I do, and hopefully it'll excite you for what's next.

A thank you—again—to my Beta for her help and suggestions. And of course her encouragement. She liked this chapter, so I hope you guys do as well! Please enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Do I have to do this every chapter?

Chapter 1: "When You're Ready"

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 **Upper West Side, New York City, New York. Saturday, September 6th, 2042. 08:42 am. 26 years later.**

The first thing that hits him is the smell of Sharpie. Antonio Stark has once again fallen asleep working.

"Ughh," he groans as he wrinkles his nose. The young Stark's eyes open to meet the blinding morning light spilling through the high windows of his garage. Antonio groggily lifts his head from the work table that's become his temporary bed and notices the marker he left open all night. He rolls his eyes to himself and runs a hand through his messy, black hair, waiting for his foggy mind to clear.

The young man scans the garage, noting every loose piece of unfinished gray armor lying around. The gauntlet he fell asleep wiring last night is spread out across the work table in front of him along with the half-drawn blueprint under his chest. The rest of his armor hangs on a stand completely put together save for one gauntlet and the helmet. He can't wait to see the day when he finishes the suit, but wonders where the helmet got off to since he doesn't seem to remember much of yesterday.

" **Oh good, you're awake, sir,** " chimes Jarvis throughout the garage. _Darn, cheeky computer_ , Antonio thinks.

"Morning, Jarvis," he replies, searching his mind for an ounce of tolerance to combat the AI's good mood. Antonio will never understand why his dad decided to upgrade Jarvis' AI technology with an alternating mood program.

"What time is it?" Antonio asks. He stretches his arms overhead in hopes of loosening his stiff back muscles. Leaning over a table all night isn't exactly the best posture practice, not to mention how uncomfortable his metal work stool is.

" **It is eight-forty-five, sir.** "

Antonio blinks his electric blue eyes, frozen in his chair, hoping Jarvis is taking a swing at joking. "What did you say?" he asks with a raised brow.

" **The time is eight-forty-five, sir. I tried to wake you an hour ago as you requested, but you were fast asleep,** " the computer explains.

And so, panic ensues. Antonio gracefully topples out of his chair and hits the concrete floor, sending a jolt rattling through his bones. "I'm late!" he yells. Hastily, he gets back on his feet and hurries towards the steps that lead into the young man's home. Antonio grabs the doorknob at the top of the stairs and swings it open to find his house in a mess. Pizza boxes are strewn across the coffee table, various t-shirts littering his couch, and the disembodied helmet of his half-built armor staring at him from across the room on the kitchen counter. _There it is_ , he thinks, noticing just creepy it looks without the rest of the armor. He tries to move his eyes away from the unsettling stare of Iron Man and takes a sharp turn up the stairs to the right.

Practically jumping up the carpeted steps, Antonio speeds towards the master bedroom that the "master" never uses, which is as equally messy as the living room. Immediately, he trips over one of his worn, red sneakers. Thankfully, this time, he doesn't fall flat on his face but instead, rams his knee into the corner of the bed. The Stark bites down a curse and scrambles towards his closet in search of a clean outfit. He quickly snatches a red button-up shirt off of a hanger, along with a pair of black jeans and a black and white stripe necktie.

"Gotta…mmph, dress quickly!" he mutters while pulling off his shirt, almost strangling himself in the process. He flings his vintage print Avengers t-shirt across the room, not caring where it lands and runs into the bathroom.

He brushes his teeth in a hurry and slips in his contacts. And for the first time this morning, Antonio actually looks at himself in the mirror. The young Stark slowly evaluates the dark circles that take away from his bright blue eyes, the noticeable stubble growing around his usually well-trimmed goatee, and the unruliness of his short, black hair. Antonio sighs sadly as he realizes just how tired he looks. More tired than any twenty-three-year-old should. When he was a kid with four eyes and an inhaler, he imagined he'd look better as an adult. But boy was he mislead.

He splashes some cold water on his face in hopes of washing the thoughts away. His tiredness and sleep depravity haven't been for not. In fact, he may be spending all his time on one of the most important things he'll ever do in his life. At least, that's what he tells himself.

Antonio continues to dress in a rushed fashion, pulling off his work jeans and replacing them with his black, dress jeans. He slips his red collared shirt on and finishes tucking it in when he starts on his tie. A few minutes later, he runs back down the stairs, dressed and ready, looking for his messenger bag. He wades through garbage and clothes in his search, then hears a climactic crunch underfoot.

 _That better not have been my laptop...I do NOT have time to rebuild it again_ , Antonio thinks. He lifts his foot, relieved to find the squashed body of a huge, fuzzy brown spider. _Wait, spider?_ In a panic, he jumps back and finds himself falling over the coffee table he didn't realize was directly behind him, landing painfully on his back. He smacks his forehead angrily.

"Today is not my day," he says aloud. He lays his head on the floor for a moment and covers his face with his hands. Antonio sighs heavily, peeking through his fingers up at the silvery metal ceiling fan that spins slowly overhead. He lazily flops his head to the side and notices his messenger bag hiding under an empty pizza box, with his laptop hidden safely inside.

"There you are!" He happily grabs it from under the garbage and flips his legs over his head in a backward somersault. Proud that he landed on his feet, he heads back down into the garage.

"Jarvis, send dad a message. Let him know I'm on my way," Antonio announces. "Oh, and lock the doors for me." The young Stark picks up his phone as he passes by his work table, tosses dried up Sharpie number forty-two in the trash and almost trips over a piece of armor plating lying on the floor. He snatches a pair of keys from a hooked wall-rack by the side door and heads for a sparkling, garnet 2008 Ford Mustang, the pride of his collection of classic cars. With the press of a button on the car's remote, the lights flash and the locks open. He hastily opens the driver door and sits down, tossing his messenger bag in the passenger's seat.

One lengthy ride through Midtown Manhattan later, and Antonio pulls his red Mustang into the parking garage under Stark Tower. He drives past the hundreds of other vehicles, surveying each one to see who's at work today. The perks of growing up around your father's employees are that, after a while, you learn all four hundred and twelve of their names.

The black-haired young man finds his usual parking spot and then proceeds to make his way towards the elevator that will lead him to his father's office. Assuming Tony allows him in. Antonio nervously taps the cloth messenger bag hanging beside him and hopes that his dad isn't angry at him for missing one of the most important meetings he'll ever be included in.

Ever since Antonio got back from college a few months ago, he's been diligently working to prove to his dad and mom that he has the ability to run his father's company one day. With a Master's Degree in Electrical Engineering and a minor in Computer Programing, and excelling at engineering of all types, Antonio feels he's more than capable. But, as the Stark is lifted through the building he calls home, he runs down the list of all the possible reactions his father might have for his being late. The one and only time Antonio has ever been late. There's the "silent judgment," or the "angry outburst," but it'll more than likely be the oh-so-famous "gentle let down."

 _Pick your poison, Howie_ , he thinks, mentally chastising himself with his middle name.

Antonio's electric eyes dart towards the digital number screen above his head, and suddenly he feels a lump in his throat as he approaches the ninety-second floor. Of all the days he could've been late it had to happen today. The young Stark feels the unsettling chill of death approach as the elevator doors open just in time for him to see all of his father's clients leave the main meeting room and walk towards him. He missed the meeting entirely.

 _Great_.

He exhales deeply and steps past the men and women as they crowd the elevator. Antonio spots his father standing in the doorway. Their eyes meet, and he knows he's in for it. _Guilt train arriving at the station._

The two meet at the door, and Antonio shamefully drops his eyes to the floor as he walks past his seemingly disappointed father. Tony closes the door behind them and offers his son a seat at the large, rectangular table littered with spreadsheets, pencils, and sticky notes left behind. The young man sits quietly in one of the many chairs surrounding the table, and waits for his dad to stop circling him like a vulture.

"Dad, I—" Antonio begins. He's silenced by Tony raising a hand, wordlessly asking for a minute to think. The longer Tony is quiet the more nervous Antonio becomes. The boy's foot begins to tap as his father paces in front of him. Antonio's foot stills when his dad stops.

"How long have you been in the family business, Antonio?" Tony asks.

Antonio, dumbfounded, mumbles an answer. "Pretty much as long as I've been alive." Tony simply nods.

"And out of those twenty-three some odd years, how much have you learned about the company?"

"Hopefully enough to run it one day," Antonio answers honestly. He watches as his father eyes him, probably mentally judging him for wearing too much red. Antonio looks down at himself to wonder if he actually is wearing too much red when his father jars the young man from his insecurities.

"Am I ever late for work?" Tony asks rhetorically. Antonio shakes his head. _Next stop on the guilt train, disappointmentville._

"Dad, you can stop right now. I know where you're going with this. I was late, and it's not because I felt like sleeping in. I know how important this meeting was, but I was working all night and I swear I set my alarm for seven-thirty sharp. Jarvis tried to wake me, but I was so tired…I didn't hear him," Antonio explains. He wants so badly for his father to understand that it does matter to him about being on time, the young Stark simply allowed time to escape him the night before on his personal project.

Tony's serious expression relaxes and he takes a seat in front of his son. "It's okay."

"And I rushed to get here. I'll probably end up getting a bunch of tickets mailed to my house for speeding," Antonio continues.

Tony slides the rolling-chair closer to Antonio. "I understand, Antonio."

"It's just I've been working so hard on this project and I can't wait to show you. And I really do take all of this seriously, I just want you to be proud of what I'm doing."

"Antonio," Tony says, attempting to stop his son's nervous rambling. "It's okay, really." Tony's amber eyes meet his son's blue and Antonio quiets. "I'll be proud of you no matter what you do, I just want you to make sure you don't load too much pressure on yourself at once. Take it from a seasoned pro," Tony says with a grin.

Antonio's shoulders relax and a smile tugs at his lips. _Next stop on the guilt train, Don't-Be-Like-Me City_. "I know dad, I just really want things to go right for me and my life. I don't want to have to use a second chance on getting my dream job like Maria did."

The mention of his sister's past failures causes Tony to frown. He no doubt wishes he or Pepper could've done things differently to prevent their daughter's situation as a teen. "Don't talk about your sister like that. She made some mistakes, but she's doing better now. Besides Howie," his dad's smile returns. "At the rate you're going, you may never need a second chance."

Antonio rolls his eyes and smirks. "Dad, you know I hate being called Howie."

"You have a problem with your grandfather's name?" Tony remarks.

"I have nothing against Howard, it's Howie I can't stand," Antonio replies.

The two share a lighthearted laugh and stand. They walk towards the door and Tony slings an arm around his youngest child. The elder Stark looks at him and smiles. The boy looks strikingly like himself with his shaped nose and thin face, but he has his mother's focus and drive. He's come a long way since his days as a baby, barely holding on to life when his premature birth almost robbed him of the incredible world he lives in now. He looks at his son and not only sees the future of his company but the future of technology and maybe even...

"You really think I can do it one day, dad? Run the company?" Antonio asks, snapping his father from his thoughts.

Tony gives his son one last gaze and grins widely. "No doubt."

Antonio can't help but grin as well and the two step out of the conference room and into the hallway.

Antonio happens to glance down at his red wrist watch, and realizes he was supposed to meet his best friend for lunch. "Oh, dad. I gotta go. I'm meeting Kassy at McCalister's for an early lunch." But just as the young man begins down the hall, Tony stops him.

"Hang on. When you get back I'll be gone, I'm meeting your mother for a personal meeting we have to attend to together. But I've got a list of things I need you to do while I'm out, okay?"

Antonio turns his head curiously. "Okay, dad." He looks down at his watch again. "Sorry dad, gotta go!" Antonio waves to his dad as he runs for the elevator.

"The list is on the desk in the Terrace. Don't forget it!" Tony calls after him.

"I won't!"

 **McCalister's Café, Midtown. 10:01 am.**

Another unnecessarily long ride through New York City's morning rush lands Antonio in front of a small café known as McCalister's. A small, brick building squished in between two much taller buildings. With large, glass windows decorated with the restaurant's green and yellow logo and matching striped awnings, the little shop doesn't exactly blend into the big city scene. Antonio believes that's why he and his best friend like it so much.

The young Stark pushes through the single glass door and the familiar sound of a bell rings overhead.

"Hello, Mr. Stark!" chimes a young man behind the ordering counter on the back wall. Antonio smiles at the cashier and takes in the scent of the fresh baked bread and cookies that sit behind the glass cases. He navigates through the tight café filled with high-top tables and chairs scattered around the middle of the room.

"Morning Caleb," Antonio says. "Is Kassidy here yet?" He looks around at the handful of people enjoying their meals, none of which are Kassidy. He thought she might be in the bathroom, but from the look on Caleb's pale face, he's probably wrong.

"I'm sorry," the red-headed young man begins. "Ms. Barton isn't here yet. But, your booth is ready." Caleb, with curly, red hair and a toothpick for a body, motions towards one of the empty cloth and leather booths that line the side walls. Antonio nods and slides into the bench that faces the door, knowing eventually he'll have to move for his friend. She has this thing about watching doors. Antonio thinks she's paranoid, but he understands why. As he waits for his friend, he thinks about how little he's seen of her since he came home from college five months ago. Always busy with either work or training, Antonio has found it increasingly hard to pin down Kassidy Barton for a simple lunch date.

The young Stark remembers the first day he met the Hawk and Mockingbird's daughter. It was early August 2025. Antonio, only six at the time, took a trip with his parents and sister to California. It was one of their quarterly trips to the West Coast branch of Stark Solutions where they checked up on how things were progressing without the Starks being present full time. But this particular trip happened to have had a detour planned. Tony and Pepper promised their kids many times that they would introduce them to two of their Avenger friends and their daughter, but their timing never seemed to be right. Once, Maria came down with the flu and had to spend the whole trip in the vacation home on bed rest. Another time, Antonio had an Asthma attack and was rushed to the hospital, and so on. But this time, there were no unforeseen circumstances. Even so, young Antonio was nervous about finally meeting his parents' friends, but his nerves were overthrown by the excitement of meeting more of his heroes.

The family of four was invited to the Barton's apartment on a stifling hot Saturday afternoon for a day to visit and introduce their kids. Awkward, little Antonio kept trying to think of ways to introduce himself while his big sister simply told him to act "natural." Antonio remembers thinking what a beautiful name Kassidy was on the car ride over. Upon their arrival, it took the kids all of four minutes to realize Kassidy wasn't exactly a social butterfly. Antonio and Maria tried several times to coax the golden blonde from the safety of hiding behind her father's leg, but she simply shook her curly hair and ran to her room. Bobbie told the Starks she'd talk to her, and eventually was able to persuade Kassidy to come out and speak, if only for a few minutes.

Antonio spoke to her with kindness and even got a giggle out of her once or twice. By the end of the night, neither wanted the other to leave. The two become good friends by the end of the Starks' trip. But unfortunately, the trip had to end, and the Starks flew home. Luckily for them, it certainly wasn't their last encounter.

A couple of months later, the Barton's moved back to New York City, leaving everything young Kassidy had known for the past six years behind. Clint and Bobbie weren't as badly affected by the move as Kassidy was. The uprooted child was forced to adapt to a new environment, a new home, a new school and a new way of living. But, unlike most kids forced to move, she had a friend waiting for her.

Now twenty-three, Kassidy has grown into a wonderful person. Strong, resilient and beautiful from head to toe, Kassidy resembles nothing of the bashful little girl she once was. Simply thinking of her makes Antonio smile. She looks like her mother but her sense of humor screams Clint. The way her golden blonde hair falls in soft waves and the sparkle her aquamarine eyes hold always puts Antonio as ease. A laugh from her can make even his darkest of days brighter. Not only is she a professional Archer, but she's also a gymnast with skills worthy of Cirque De Soleil in Antonio's opinion. But then again, the young man's opinion of her is slightly influenced by the fact that the poor soul has been hopelessly in love with her since his teen years.

Antonio looks down at his watch, then shifts his eyes to the door. He's been waiting for fifteen minutes. And here he thought it was his day to run late. Antonio pulls a thin, white case no longer than his pinky out of his pants pocket. He presses a diamond shaped button in the center, and it separates, stretching into a holographic screen. The screen lights up, showing his calls, texts, and apps. The latest in Stark Tech holo-phones, it is 2042 after all.

Antonio fingers through to his messages only to find nothing from her. He's beginning to worry until an alert pops onscreen, interrupting his futile search. She's calling him. Relief and disappointment alter his mood and he answers the phone.

"Hey, Kassy," he says, mustering a chipper greeting to the best of his ability. The fact that she's calling means there's a good chance she's not coming.

"Hey Antonio, I would've called earlier but I've had back to back classes this morning. You know how crazy Saturdays get down here," Kassidy says with a sheepish chuckle. The girl tries to explain that her job as an Archery instructor at Midtown Recreational Center about ten blocks down will consume the rest of her day and she regrets that she'll miss lunch.

Antonio exhales deeply. This is their fourth lunch she's canceled on within the last two weeks. "I understand. Well, maybe we could do dinner? I could grab some Thai and we could hang out at the Terrace?" His suggestion is met with a long pause. He hoped if he mentioned the Stark Tower lounge dubbed "the Terrace," it might win her over. The two used to spend a lot of time together there, talking and having fun.

But the sound of her sighing on the other end of the call tells him otherwise. _Uh-oh_ , Antonio thinks. _Here comes the "maybe next time," line I've been hearing so much of lately._

"Maybe another time?"

Antonio rolls his electric eyes and purses his lips. "Sure, next time," he answers shortly. He wants Kassidy to know he's upset with her.

"I'm really sorry, Antonio. Listen, I'll talk to you later. I love you," she says, waiting for a reply. Antonio drops his head. He was hoping she wouldn't say something like that.

The young Stark forces himself to answer. "Love you too." The two say goodbye, and Antonio slides out of the booth. He walks up to the counter and orders a sandwich and comfort cookie to go.

 **The Terrace, Stark Tower, Midtown. 10:54 am.**

Now back at Stark Tower, Antonio finds himself laid out on the blue, suede futon that is situated in the conversation area of the Terrace. Taking up the entirety of the ninety-third floor, the hangout was created for Maria and Antonio as kids. It was originally designed to be a family room for the times when Tony and Pepper had to work late, but it soon became their kids' favorite place to bring their friends. Chicly decorated in natural colors and equipped with a full kitchen, the room also has a small desk area in front of the outer wall of windows. But they don't call it the Terrace for nothing.

Two glass doors open out to a concrete terrace that juts from the front the building. Deep enough to have a small table and two chairs outside, the view from the balcony is breathtaking and the busy streets of Manhattan can be seen from every angle. Antonio would already be sitting out feeling the wind whip around the ninety-three story building if he wasn't so busy moping on the couch.

The young man is stretched out on his back with his arms and legs hanging off the ends. A crumpled silver wrapper from his sandwich is perched atop his chest and with each breath he draws, the paper moves closer to falling onto the floor. Antonio can feel his eyes grow heavy from lack of sleep, sadness, and a full belly. He's within falling asleep entirely when a random thought strikes him. Antonio suddenly feels as if there's something he was supposed to remember. Something important in the desk area.

He pulls himself from the edge of sleep and leans forward off of his back. Antonio picks up the sandwich wrapper and sets in on the coffee table with his messenger bag before it falls on the floor. He peers over the couch's back and moves his eyes towards the small, metal desk that sits in front of a wall of windows. He thinks for a moment and notices a single sheet of paper laid out.

"The list," Antonio realizes. He sighs hard and flops backward onto the couch. On the desk more than likely sits one of his father's oh-so-hilarious "Sonny-Do" lists, filled with menial tasks to keep his son busy. The young Stark checks his watch. If he gets started now he might be done by the time Tony gets back from his personal meeting, whatever that meant.

Antonio begrudgingly rises from the comfort of the suede couch and strolls over to the desk. "Let's see what we have here." With the page in hand, he mentally reads off each task.

 _1\. Check with Electrical Engineering Department on the progress of the current project: Smart Engine._

He grabs a pen and to the eighty-ninth floor, he goes.

A short ride down and the elevator spits him out on the designated floor for the Electrical Engineering Department, Antonio's personal favorite. While Antonio attended MIT, hanging out with his fellow engineers in their work lab were some of his most fond memories of college, and being around the engineers here makes him feel at home. Entering into a long, stark white hallway, Antonio walks past many open lab doors and windows that reveal the work being done. Busy men and women walk up, down and across the hall as Antonio peeks in at the many projects being built and tested.

He walks by one window in particular and stops to look in. Weighing down a table is a large hunk of metal. It doesn't look like anything at the moment, but as Antonio takes a closer look he recognizes it as a scrapped robotic arm, about to be taken apart and repurposed. The young man sighs wistfully and wonders what it will be turned into. He wishes he could stay and watch, but he's on the hunt to find the head of the department, Mr. Wallaby. An older and quite eccentric gentleman, Mr. Wallaby is known for his unorthodox proceedings, but mostly his development success rate. And his beard.

Antonio remembers when he first met the man and that his gray-streaked, smoky-brown beard was down past his chest. He remembers thinking a beard like that wouldn't be hard to find in a crowd. Luckily for Antonio, he's still not hard to find. Towards the end of the hall, towers six-foot-three Mr. Nathaniel Wallaby and his beard, now mid stomach and mostly gray. Antonio spots him and waves, but Mr. Wallaby is unaware of his presence. The young Stark walks closer and realizes he's talking to another engineer. Antonio stops just behind him and waits, ready to check off this department on the list in his hands.

"I'll get right on that, sir," says the young girl Mr. Wallaby is speaking to. She walks away and the older man is still ignorant to Antonio standing behind him. Antonio clears his throat in hopes of getting his attention, and he finally turns around.

"Hello there, what can I do for you…" he pauses, searching the young man's face for a name to match it.

"Antonio. Antonio Stark," he offers. Mr. Wallaby's large brown eyes light up and he bears a toothy grin.

"Antonio Stark! My how you've grown!" beams Mr. Wallaby. He grabs hold of Antonio's free hand and shakes it ferociously. "What can I do for you, son?"

Antonio waits for his arm to stop jiggling before he answers. "Dad's got me on an errand run. He wanted me to check in with each department to see how your projects are progressing, but from the looks of it, everything seems to be going pretty well."

"Oh yes," Mr. Wallaby says. His grin doesn't falter for a minute as he takes Antonio on a quick tour, showing him a few things to report to his father on.

The elder man shows Antonio the latest and greatest Engineering has to offer, from self-repairing vehicles to robotics that can build forty story skyscrapers without a human present. The black-haired young man actually starts to geek out a little bit as hundreds of questions fill his head, but despite his excitement, he has to refocus himself.

"Mr. Wallaby," Antonio stops. "All of this is incredible, really, but dad wanted me to ask about a particular project called Smart Engine."

The grin Mr. Wallaby has held since Antonio introduced himself begins to fade at the mention of the project. "Well, son…that one's been a little difficult."

"Dad just wants to know how it's going," Antonio says gently. He offers a kind smile and the old fellow's expression changes.

"Of course. The Smart Engine is coming along nicely, but we've hit a few road blocks with the energy regulators. Trying to convert your average car engine into one that processes Arc energy instead of gasoline is a tad trickier than it may seem," Mr. Wallaby explains. "We haven't been able to design a small enough regulator that can handle that much energy in a constant high-pressure atmosphere."

"Well," Antonio starts as he scratches his goatee. "Maybe if you stop thinking so much about limiting the size of the regulators in the engine and more on the overall size of the engine, I think it might help. Because if you can't cut down the size without the risk of losing power regulation, then you need to cut the size on something else. You know, change in perspective and all."

Mr. Wallaby gives Antonio's suggestion a moment's thought, then breaks into a large smile. "Of course! Why didn't I think of that!" Mr. Wallaby shakes Antonio's hand again, this time making his shoulder feel dislocated. "Thank you."

"No problem. Anything to help my E.E. bros out," Antonio says with a wink. Mr. Wallaby walks Antonio to the elevator as the young man checks off task number one. One down, seven more to go, Antonio thinks.

Upon reaching the elevator, Mr. Wallaby thanks him once again. "Have you ever considered working down here? You'd make a fine edition to the Electrical Engineering staff," he offers.

"I'd probably enjoy it, but I've got somewhere else I'm shooting for," Antonio says, pointing up.

"Ah, management, huh?" Mr. Wallaby smirks and shakes his head. "Well, good luck with that, young one. Although, if you ever want to tinker around in here, I'm not stopping you." The elevator dings and the doors slide open. The two engineers nod respectfully to each other and Antonio steps into the lift.

 _Next on the list. 2. Repeat task one with every other department. Simple enough_.

And so, Antonio makes his way down the rest of the eighty-eight floors still unchecked. The next seven hours pass by slowly as the sun makes its way across the sky. Antonio checks his watch every now and then to see how far he's gotten over the day. And the answer is, not very far. Tech and Programming talked his ear off for at least thirty minutes, while Medical Tech shoved him out the door, saying "They couldn't be bothered at the time." The Internet Security Monitoring department had plenty to say about the importance of their jobs while the Utility Tech group had little to say about their development of the Arc Power processing unit, which would supply the entire city of New York with free, clean energy. That is if they could get it to not short circuit every time someone plugs in a phone charger.

The day seems to drag out into the night hours, when finally, Antonio makes it to the bottom of the list.

 _7\. Make sure the security codes for the Vault have been changed._

Antonio scratches his head. The Vault? The mysterious Vault that holds all of his father's secret inventions he never talks about or mentions. That Vault? It had to be a mistake. Neither Tony nor Pepper has ever fully explained what the Vault is or what it holds, but when you grow up at Stark Tower, you hear some colorful rumors. When Antonio was thirteen, one of the guards told him that the Vault used to be where Tony kept his Armory when he was Iron Man. Another told him when he was fifteen that the Vault held all the artifacts the Avengers found over the years because they didn't trust them with S.H.I.E.L.D.

Antonio's curiosity peaks as he might just get the chance to find out the truth.

Antonio rides the elevator down to the small wing of the Tower that shares the parking level in the basement. Eerily lit, and darkly decorated, the B-Wing doesn't look like it's been used in years. Either that or the cleaning lady is on strike. The long hall that leads from the elevator doors takes Antonio down a series of short hallways that turn every few steps, when finally, he sees light coming from a large room at the end of the hall. He approaches to find a whole room filled with security monitors and a large, joint desk with several people typing away on keyboards, all staring at holographic screens that flicker as fast as they type. Antonio takes in the hundreds of screens and looks over the angles, recognizing where each one is. The young man can't help but let out an impressed "wow."

Suddenly all the security team's eyes are on him, and he smiles at them awkwardly. "Hi, guys, Antonio Stark here." The rest of the guards go back to what they were doing, but one guard seems to materialize in front of Antonio. He jumps a little and is scared to look the man in the eyes. Fortunately for Antonio, the practically seven-foot guard is wearing sunglasses. In a dimly lit room, at night…makes sense.

"I'm here on behalf of my dad. He wanted me to check in and make sure the security codes for the Vault were changed."

The man standing in front of Antonio curls his lip. The beefy looking fellow has a serious five o'clock shadow and looks as if he's gotten as much sleep as Antonio has lately. His navy blazer that barely fits around his muscular arms has his name stitched into the front, with the Stark Solutions logo right above it. His name is Butch. How fitting.

"I'm gonna need to see some I.D.," he says. His deep, gravelly voice compels Antonio to pull his I.D. badge out of his pocket and show him. The I.D. badge he never wears because everyone knows him, everyone but Butch it seems.

"That's Stark's kid, Butch. Give him a break," says one of the guards sitting down at the monitor.

"Just needed to be sure. I'll be sure to get those codes changed immediately," he says, prompting Antonio to leave.

"Great. Great…" The young man stands awkwardly for a moment, obviously not noticing his cue.

"You can go now, kid."

"Right! Sorry."

Antonio steps out the door and walks away from the security room, only to duck into another room. He waits for Butch to leave for the Vault, as he's planning on following him. The large security guard walks out of the monitoring room with a small box that resembles an automatic code generator in hand. Antonio sneaks down the hall behind Butch, making sure to hide just out of view.

Butch walks down a series of hallways much longer than the others, taking the two of them deeper into the B-wing. The farther they go, the darker it seems to get as Butch finally leads Antonio to a huge metal doorway with a small terminal inset in the wall to the left. The Vault seems to be hidden behind a large, garage type door. The blue-eyed Stark slips into an old supply closet and watches Butch closely as he presses his thumb against the screen on the keypad. The keypad dings and the guard plugs in the auto coder, standing back to let it recode the lock.

Antonio eyes the man, noting his every move. Butch sighs heavily as he waits for the coder to finish, then snatches the little box away from the keypad after it signals it's finished. The beefy guard shoves the coder in his inner jacket pocket, and makes his way back to the monitoring room, walking right past Antonio. He considers turning back and forgetting about this entirely. He knows that there has to be a reason he hasn't been told about this, right? But he's so close to finding out for himself what the Vault really is. The young man heaves a sigh and decides to move closer and solve this mystery.

"Now, let's see what kind of trouble I can get into," he says. He whips out his holo-phone and pulls up one of his most used apps, programmed by the young genius himself. He immediately begins the electronic syncing process, and within a few minutes, not only has the fingerprint recognition pre-lock on the terminal been bypassed, but the security cameras surrounding the Vault have been put on a continuous playback loop. Antonio is practically invisible at the moment.

"Here we go."

Antonio's thumbs tap away as he works his way into figuring out the new code. He hopes there isn't a backup security system that recognizes when someone is breaking in. If so, he's probably going to get in to way more trouble than he originally estimated.

 **Pym Corp. Headquarters, Lower Manhattan. 7:52 pm.**

"So, it's settled then? You're really willing to do this for us?" Janet Pym asks Tony and Pepper Stark.

The two, along with Janet and her daughter Helen, sit in the main office of the Pym Corp complex. Janet sits behind her large CEO desk and while Tony and his wife are seated across from her. But Helen stands on the other side of the room, silent with her arms crossed. The tall and lanky twenty-two-year-old stands beside a large window that overlooks the entire Pym complex of three, modern built buildings. Her distracted stormy-gray eyes follow the few people that stroll along the concrete walkways that intersect and connect each building. The two former Avengers know she doesn't want to be having this conversation, but they all know the current situation deems it necessary.

"Helen?" Pepper calls. "You've been awfully quiet. We want your input too, you know. This is up to you and your mother."

Helen sighs and comes to stand by her mother, propping her arm on the back of her chair. "Personally, I don't think this venture can fail financially, but I just don't know how our employees will take the merge. You will have space for our development team, right Mr. Stark?"

"Of course," Tony nods. "The point of this idea is to have two companies combine their efforts for a common cause, a cause I thought both of you would want light brought to."

"Of course we want Mental Health issues addressed, but do the two of you honestly believe the investors will be willing to back this idea?" Jan asks, concern evident in her tone.

The Stark's notice how the small woman's bright blue eyes have darkened from the circles hiding underneath them. And the sleekness of her deep auburn hair has dulled. Janet has never looked as tired as she has the past few months. Even in her and Hank's toughest of times, she didn't show it physically, but the pressure of her company's financial state has her worried. But not just her, Pepper and Tony can both tell she's struggling to keep it together. And having her daughter here has lifted a lot of weight off of her frail shoulders, but she can only help so much. Helen has recently become an important part of Pym Corp, and Janet knows she couldn't have taken over her ill husband's company without one of her two daughters by her side.

"Jan, we've run statistics for weeks now. We're sure that not only will our current investors support this, but we also think that this could attract new investors for you." Tony's encouraging words are met with a relieved smile from Janet. "Trust me on this, this will do wonders for your company."

"Well," Jan starts. She looks up to skeptical Helen who has her arms across her chest again. "I need your consent."

Her firm expression softens as she looks on her tired, broken mother. "Mom, whatever you decide will be my decision too," Helen says.

"Okay then. We'll take a couple of days to get in contact with our investor and see what he thinks."

Tony, Pepper, and Janet stand to say goodbye. Jan walks around her desk and wraps her arms around both of their necks, squeezing them tightly. "Thank you both so much."

"Anytime, Jan," Pepper kindly replies. Tony nods to Helen and she respectfully returns it. The couple turns and head for the door out of Jan's office. Pepper and Tony are on their way to their car when Tony's smart watch brightens with an alert. He cocks his head curiously and checks it.

"What is it?" Pepper asks.

"I don't believe it…someone is trying to break into the Vault!" Tony says, now running to get to the car.

"The Vault? I thought security guards monitor it constantly? Who else would have access?" Pepper asks. She picks up her pace to catch up with her husband.

"No one," Tony calls back. "Except…"

"Except what?"

They push through the front doors of the building and reach the car outside, but Tony pauses before getting in. The two stare at each other over the car. He thinks for a moment and finally a horrible thought occurs to him. "I told Antonio to make sure the codes were changed."

"Tony! You don't think he'd do that?"

"I don't know! He's your kid," Tony snaps.

"He's your kid too, Anthony Stark," Pepper snaps back as they hop in the car.

 **B-Wing, Stark Tower, New York. 8:06 pm.**

"Woah," Antonio breathes. The Vault has been opened and the young man now stands in the wide doorway, amazed at all of the inventions littering the seemingly expanding room. The dark is illuminated when he flips on a light switch, and everything can now be seen. So many hunks of inventions that never got past the prototype stage, and so many that are half built, like his dad just gave up on them. And truth be told, he probably did give up on most of this.

Mountains of dust-covered wooden crates are stacked and spread across the vast room, each one labeled with what they contain. Antonio runs his fingers over some of the labels, wiping the dust away to read each one. _Hand-held subatomic particle stimulator? Compact Nuclear grenades? Pieces of the Mark I?_

"What the heck is this stuff?" Antonio asks aloud. The more stapled in labels he reads, the more he wishes he'd never ventured in here. The young Stark is stunned to find nothing but weapons. That's all that's down here. Weapons and projects his father promised he got rid of. Is this really what his parents have been hiding from him all his life? A room full of inventions he's lied to the world about having?

"I can't believe dad hid this from me...from everyone." Antonio searches through the rest of the room, hoping for some invention that doesn't reek of mass destruction. As the search becomes less promising, he comes across something he wasn't aware was in the Vault. Closed up in a clear tube-like container next to something called a trans-dimensional portal projector is the Mark 95 armor—in perfect shape, if but a bit dusty. The last set of armor Tony ever made before he retired, and one of the many sets he supposedly dismantled.

Antonio stares at the suit through the glass, taking in every inch of the beautiful piece of engineering genius before him. The sleek lines, the red and gold colors, and each part is intricately woven together. If he wasn't so upset, he'd be drooling. The longer the Stark stares, the more he feels the need to leave the Vault, Armory—whatever Tony wants to call this place—and never come back. If he leaves now and locks it back up, no one would know he was here, and he could pretend he never saw any of these…these things.

Antonio runs for the door, and with a few taps on the terminal, the metal doors slam together. As soon as he's a safe distance from the Vault, he shuts off the security camera playback and sneaks by the guards' room. He weaves down the series of short hallways until he comes to the elevator. Antonio runs his fingers through his black hair, making it look frazzled while he rides up to the Terrace.

"I'll just act like I did exactly what he asked me too," Antonio tells himself. He comes up with his strategies, thinking he has plenty of time before his parents get back to pull himself together. But when the doors open to the ninety-third floor, he realizes he doesn't have any time at all.

"Mom, Dad, hey. Didn't know you guys were back." Antonio steps off the elevator, straightening his red shirt and striped tie. Pepper and Tony stand from the couch when they see him, both with angry expressions. "What's up?"

"You tell me," Tony says. Antonio nervously eyes his dad tap on his watch's screen, and suddenly a holographic projection lights up the room. Tony is showing his son the alert that was sent when he hacked the Vault. "You wanna explain?"

Antonio stares blankly at the hologram. He darts his electric eyes between his parents with his mouth agape. "I—I, um." Antonio's breathing picks up as he searches for some defense for his actions.

"Well...would _you_ like to explain to me why the Vault is full of weapons and armor you told everyone you dismantled?" Antonio questions. The color drains from his parents' faces and they glance at each other.

"You got in?" Pepper says, almost shocked.

"Yes mom, I got in. And I saw everything." Antonio waits for his parents to give some explanation as to why they've lied to him about the Vault for so long, but I guess having a secret basement full of dangerous weapons isn't something you tell your kids about.

"Antonio, you don't understand," Tony starts.

"You're right, I don't! Explain it to me, dad, just what is a subatomic particle stimulator, or a biological disruptor. Actually, that second one sounds kinda self-explanatory to me."

"Antonio would you let me explain," Tony tries, but Antonio refuses to stop.

"Explain what? When were you going to warn me not to stomp around so hard because I might activate the Nuclear grenades sitting down there?"

"You didn't touch those did you?" Tony yells.

"No dad, I left all of your tools of destruction alone."

"Anthony Edward and Antonio Howard Stark!" Pepper stomps. The two Starks look at her, both almost scared to hear what she might say next.

"Tony, I think it's time you tell him what the Vault is for. Antonio, I expect you to sit quietly and listen. Now both of you sit down and stop acting like children." The redhead points towards the blue couch, her green eyes lit with anger.

Tony sits down on the couch as directed and Antonio sits in one of the chairs across from him. Pepper takes her place beside her husband and elbows him to start talking. Tony flinches and sighs heavily.

"Your mother and I haven't told you or Maria about the Vault because we didn't think it was important. I know you've been curious about it ever since you were little, I just didn't know you were this curious."

Antonio shrinks in his chair as his father speaks. "The Vault use to be a room on its own, but eventually was combined with my armory after I retired. And yes, it is full of dangerous weapons that I designed. But the me that designed them is the same one who got himself kidnapped and almost killed many years ago. I was different back then, Antonio," Tony says. His voice carries a notable tone of regret, but he continues speaking.

"That Tony Stark only ever cared about the money. I was making and designing weapons for the military, and I didn't care what they were going to be used for. I didn't care what I was allowing my company to turn into. But after my experience, after this," he taps on the Arc in his chest. "As soon as I got home I stopped making weapons. And a lot of those inventions I was in the middle of developing had to be put somewhere. I couldn't risk someone finishing my work for me, so I had the Vault built to hide everything."

Antonio takes his dad's words in, considering everything thoroughly. "But what about the armor?"

Tony looks to Pepper for backup. "After Tony retired from being Iron Man, the armory sort of became part of the Vault. A lot of the armor was dismantled, but your father and I agreed that even though he was stepping down from his role, it would be best for everyone if he kept one suit of armor intact. Just in case he's ever needed again," Pepper says.

"The Vault is full of weapons for a reason. I created them, so it's my responsibility to keep them safe," Tony finishes. The guilt overwhelming Antonio makes him shift uncomfortably in his chair.

"I would've told you, but it's sensitive information that I wasn't sure you were ready for, which is why I'm upset with you."

"Dad—" Antonio tries to speak. His voice cracks and words pile up in his throat as he wants to ask for forgiveness, but doesn't know how. "I didn't know, I just...I'm sorry I broke in."

"Breaking into the Vault doesn't bother me, bravo on that actually. Extremely impressed on that," Tony smirks. "What bothers me is that you didn't trust Pepper and I enough to wait for us to tell you the truth about it."

"When were you going to tell me?" Antonio wonders aloud.

"When you eventually inherit the company," Pepper says.

"Really guys? That could be decades from now!" Antonio exclaims.

Tony and Pepper chuckle knowingly at their son's expression. "Oh well, guess someone got a jump start on learning about the Tower," Tony remarks. "By the way, did you even get the list finished?"

"Yeah dad, here." Antonio pulls out his "Sonny-Do" list from his pants pocket and hands it over. "I wrote notes next to each department. Some were more helpful than others."

Tony scans the page, mentally noting everything his son wrote down. "Looks like you got everything covered then." Tony smiles at his son and notices that Janet wasn't the only one looking tired. The elder Stark looks down at his watch and sees it's still relatively early. But he can tell by his son's appearance that Antonio needs rest. "Antonio, since you finished the list and we've cleared things up, how about you go on home."

"Yeah sweetie, you look tired," Pepper adds. The three stand and Antonio agrees.

"You know what, I think I will go home," he yawns. The young man stretches his arms overhead and hugs his parents before he departs for the elevator. _I know I've had enough of today,_ Antonio thinks with a sigh.

"Night," Pepper says. Antonio leans down to kiss her cheek and hugs his dad.

Antonio picks up his messenger bag he left on the coffee table and is almost in the elevator when he thinks of something he wanted to ask. "Hey guys, what was the personal meeting you two went to earlier?"

Pepper and Tony quickly glance at each other. "Just visiting a friend," Tony vaguely replies. "Don't worry about it." He winks at his son, and Antonio gets the message.

 _I guess he'll tell me when he thinks I'm ready_ , Antonio thinks. The young Stark rides down to the parking garage, and once in his vehicle, locks his doors. He rests for a moment, then pulls something else out of his pants pocket. A folded up piece of blue paper. Blueprint paper.

Antonio breathes out, knowing he shouldn't have snatched these plans from the Vault, but it's exactly what he needs to finish his own suit of armor. He carefully unfolds the page out to full size, revealing the plans written on it. There, in blue and white, are the specifications for the suit his father never built—the Mark 96 armor. And the missing piece to the puzzle of Antonio's armor.

"Sorry dad," Antonio says quietly. "But I'll tell you when you're ready."

* * *

 **A/N:** Tell my what you think about Antonio by dropping a review! It doesn't have to be long or have a bunch of exclamation marks if you don't want it to (I love exclamation marks by the way!) I just want an honest opinion :) Thank you for making it this far, and I hope you stick around...the next chapter takes us to see what Doctor Banner has been up to the past twenty-plus years.

Hey I just posted this...and this is crazy... but since you've read it...review it maybe?


	3. Chapter 2: Without Orders

**A/N:** HHHHHEEEEELLLLOOOOO! Guys, I feel ashamed that it took so long to finish this (the one I didn't already have prewritten) please, please, please forgive me even though I know I don't deserve it. But here it is, at long last, CHAPTER 2! In the second installment of season one, we find ourselves looking in on Bruce Banner and how far his life has come from when we last saw him. *Side note: Later on, I hope to write a companion series that fills the gaps between the show and this fiction, so stayed tuned.* I hope you enjoy this little glimpse of what's happened, what's currently happening, and what's gonna happen! Things start to pick up, and only get crazier from here. Enjoy. Thanks to the many people who helped get this chapter finished: Penpal678910, Avenger22 and Silverpedals1402!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything Marvel, except for a few action figures and a shirt. But I do own this idea and the characters (that aren't cannon) involved!

Chapter 2: Without Orders

* * *

 **118** **th** **street, Harlem, New York. Friday, February 14** **th** **, 2042. 6:14 am.**

"Are you finished packing yet, Blake?"

His father's call sounds through their Harlem townhouse. Bruce Banner stands in the kitchen and aims his question towards the open loft that his son claimed as his bedroom. But 17-teen-year old Blake can't be bothered to answer him currently. No, he's too busy searching hi and low for his favorite beanie to protect his frizzy brown head from this chilling Valentine's day weather. The short young man rummages through the baskets in his closet, but to no avail.

"Hey, dad! Have you seen my beanie?" Blake yells.

"Which one?" his father answers, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

"Wow, dad. Thanks for the help," Blake grumbles to himself. He continues to search through his loft. The scrawny young man pulls a clear container full of hats from under his stripped-down bed, and rummages through it. Nothing.

"I give up!"

Blake huffs, snatches up the bright neon orange backpack hanging on his desk chair and stomps downstairs. He meets his dad in the living room with an exasperated start to the day.

Bruce stands in front of him, holding up a bright orange and navy striped knit hat. "Is this the one? It was sitting on the back of the couch."

Blake rolls his amber colored eyes and sighs. "Thanks."

Bruce hands over the beanie and Blake struggles to shove his hair up in it. He distinctively hears a snicker come from his father's mouth. _Not in the mood, dad,_ Blake thinks. It was bad enough he was so excited for this trip he could barely sleep last night, not to mention he put a new scratch on his new cherry red glasses. But he seriously cannot deal with his dad laughing at his unruly brown hair. Not today.

"So are you packed? I assume since you have your backpack that you got everything," Bruce says.

"I'm all packed, dad," he says, holding a thumbs-up.

Bruce smiles. "Good, then we can get started covering the furniture."

Bruce pulls a worn, white sheet off the top of a stack folded neatly on an end table by the couch. The two begin methodically covering the couch and the two chairs parallel to it for the seven-month trip before them. One might think the two of them were perfectionists, considering how precise their movement. They even make sure to tuck the sheets' edges under the feet of the couch.

But the sound of Bruce's holophone buzzing against the kitchen counter pulls his father towards the kitchen. Blake continues to cover the furniture but keeps his eyes on his dad as he answers the phone.

"Hello?" Bruce starts. But from the look on his face, whoever's on the other end must not be in a good mood.

"Woah, slow down there Jen," Bruce says. As soon as the name comes out of his mouth, Blake feels a mixed reaction wash over him.

Don't get him wrong, he loves his cousin Jennifer Walters. Blake knows she would do anything for him and his dad—and has. But lately, when she calls, it ends up being a hushed argument between her and Bruce. Arguments Blake is supposed to ignore. "What does she want, dad?"

He steps over to the kitchen and stares across the counter, but Bruce holds up a hand to him. "We don't leave for another forty-five minutes, what's up?" It doesn't take long before the color drains from his dad's already pale face, and he excuses himself to talk privately. He steps outside into the freezing weather, completely forgetting to grab his heavy coat. _That can't be good,_ Blake thinks.

The teen comes to stand by the Cherrywood front door, balancing on his tiptoes to peek out the little arch of glass above his head. He can hear Bruce raise his voice, but the words are too muffled to make out. Blake begins to nervously nibble on his thumbnail as he contemplates cracking the door and listening.

"No!" he tells himself. "I can't…but I want to."

After a few moments of switching between being a good kid and wanting to know what they're talking about, he decides to open the door. Blake slowly and easily slides the door open, just enough for him to clearly hear words.

"Jennifer, if you called just to convince me to let Blake sit this trip out, you're wasting your breath," Bruce says harshly.

"Bruce if you'll just stop with the defense for five minutes and hear me out, I know you'll see you're making a mistake," she says over the speaker. "Look, I know that these medical mission trips are important to both you and Blake, but I'm worried that if you take him this time, you'll be putting him in danger."

 _Danger?_ Blake leans in closer, unsure of what's next.

"We won't even be near the battlefield, Jen," comes Bruce's voice. "You should know by now that I would never purposely put my son in harm's way."

"I know that Bruce, but think about it. What if China suddenly decides to come after all the refugees escaping into Nepal and India? What will you do then?"

"That's just a theory," he reasons.

"It's a plausible theory," Jennifer rebuts.

Blake's eyes narrow at the conversation unfolding on his front steps. _What the heck are they arguing over?_ he wonders. But as the anger-charged words continue to come from both parties, it's not hard to understand they're arguing over him.

Jennifer stands firm on the opinion that taking Blake on this medical mission trip—one that's been three years in the making—is a terrible idea. He picks up on her points about the civil dispute that broke out over three years ago between East and West China. But his dad says that the line of villages Bruce plans on stopping in will be more than a hundred miles from the battlefield.

"He won't be safe!" Jen says.

"He's safe as long as he's with me," Bruce calmly replies.

Blake simply shakes his head. _Why are they fighting over me like this?_ he thinks _. It's not like dad doesn't take care of me or anything._ But the conversation is nowhere near being over, and he can tell it's about to escalate even more when both go silent. Slight panic sets in—partly Blake afraid to get caught eavesdropping, partly afraid to hear what's next.

"He needs to go with me and be a part of this," Bruce finally says.

"This," being a mission that was started before Blake was born. A mission solely focused on taking medicine and supplies to the parts of the world that need it. His mom and dad started their own "Doctors Without Orders," before he was a thought. Alongside Mr. Stark and T'Challa—his dad's friends—it was a group venture to better the world. And after Betty's passing, Blake knows how important it is to his dad for them to do this together.

But when Jennifer speaks again, Blake isn't prepared for what she says.

"He needs to go, or you need him to go? Bruce, don't even try to tell me this isn't about keeping an eye on him. It's always been about keeping an eye on him. You may have convinced yourself otherwise, but I know you're afraid he'll turn out like you."

"You know that's physically impossible. Betty and I did everything we could to prevent the passing of radiation onto him, and besides that, I've monitored him since he was a baby. I test his blood every year. He is not a Gamma mutant," Bruce insists.

 _Wait…what?_

"Maybe not now, but there's always been a chance, or you would've allowed him to go to regular school instead of homeschooling him." Jennifer sighs loudly before the line goes silent momentarily. "I'm just worried about him. Worried about what this constant traveling back and forth is doing to him emotionally and socially. Does he even know the names of the other teens in his neighborhood? Or what about the fact that his best friend lives in London? You need to ask yourself, Bruce…is this really the way Betty would want the two of you to live?"

Before another word can be uttered, Blake closes the front door. He doesn't want to hear any more. He doesn't think he can handle anymore. He straightens his leaned over body and blinks hard. The feeling he intruded is quickly replaced by an uncomfortable chill in his bones. Maybe it's from the bitter cold that drifted through the open door, but he has a feeling it's not.

In an attempt to ignore the damaging suggestions from his cousin, he decides to finish covering the furniture. Once the chairs and couch are done, and he's made sure the beds are stripped and covered, he sits up on the kitchen island. He waits, hoping he can act normally when Bruce comes back in. But a creeping uneasiness grips his stomach, an uneasiness he can't shake after what he's heard.

 _I'll just act natural…yeah,_ he thinks. But how can he act naturally after _that?_

Bruce walks back in the house with a painted smile on his face.

"So, what did she need?" Blake asks, casually swinging his feet back and forth.

"Fine, she just wanted to make sure she knew how often to come by and water the plants."

Blake watches his father's stiff body closely, trying to decide whether Bruce can see right through him. But with a glance towards his wrist watch, he decides not to wonder.

"Wow, five-nineteen already? We better get moving." Knowing their plane leaves at 7:00, he jumps off the counter and motions towards the stack of silver cases by the door.

Bruce looks around and pats his pockets a couple of times before pulling his jacket off the coat rack. "You didn't happen to call a taxi while I was out, did you?" he asks.

"You called one yesterday, remember?" Blake reminds his disheveled father. He leans down to grab a few silver cases, all filled with necessary medical equipment for the work before them. Blake's amber eyes lift towards his dad, but he finds it's hard to look him in the eyes.

"Ready?" Bruce asks.

Bruce stares at his son until their eyes meet, uncomfortably locking momentarily. Blake knows if he doesn't refocus now, his dad will know that he heard everything. And he's not sure could handle that kind of a conversation this early. So, nervously, he breaks their gaze and faces the door, orange pack on his back and a silver case within his grip.

"Let's go."

 **Kahir Village-Northeast of Mothaur, Bihar, India.** **Sunday, September 7** **th** **. 5:46 pm. Seven months later.**

The yellow Indian sun begins its evening descent. A few hot rays squeeze past the leaves of a shade tree Blake sits under, a rather large rock his perch at the edge of the village. The heat from the sun isn't as intense as earlier months, but still forces sweat to bead up through the dust and grim already collected on his face. The teen would love nothing more than a nice cold shower and a set of clean clothes, but out here in the middle of bone dry India, showers are hard to come by. And although his gray vans shoes look beige, at least the neon green t-shirt he's wearing hasn't been sweated through yet.

The village kids play in front of him in the sunlight and kick around a beat up soccer ball. The soccer ball belongs to Blake's friend Adju Amir, the village leader's eldest son. Even though Blake is the least athletic guy here—especially compared to Adju—he usually attempts to kick the ball around with them. But for now, he sits and watches his and Adju's dad pack the dusty forest green Jeep wrangler across the road. The Jeep is pulled in front of the little stone house he and Bruce have called home the past seven months.

Blake zones in on his dad lifting the hard, silver cases filled with medical equipment into the Jeep. But even through the glare on his glasses, he can tell his thin framed father is struggling to hoist the heavy luggage in the haze of the dry season. Abdul Amir stands beside him, a hefty and muscular man who towers over Bruce. He could easily load the Jeep on his own within a few minutes, but Bruce refuses to let him help.

The teen purses his lips. _Don't take it personally, Abdul,_ he thinks, recalling how his dad ignored his offer to pack. "He never lets me anywhere near the equipment either," he mumbles under his breath.

"What?" Adju runs over to his American friend, taking the soccer ball with him. A loud "hey!" raises from the other kids, but the Indian teen seems more concerned with why Blake is acting so anti-social. "What's up?"

The question snaps Blake from his thoughts. "Nothing, I guess," he laughs. "Just thinking."

Adju rolls his dark eyes. "You think too much. Come on, let's play before you and your father depart." Adju holds his hand out to his friend. Blake smiles up at him and takes his hand, allowing Adju to pull him up.

"Okay," Blake says. "One round." The two kick the ball back to the other kids and get a group game going. But even playing around isn't enough to distract Blake from his troubled thoughts.

Blake always hates leaving day. Always has, always will. The disheartening yet necessary part of each trip is enough to make him wanna cry. That's the thing about these trips, when he and his dad arrive, they don't know anyone. It's super easy to be awkward—to not care. But then, they get to know the people around them. Then, Blake makes friends, and making friends is the most difficult part because eventually, he knows he'll have to leave. And this part of India isn't exactly booming with Wifi hotspots for contacting people.

The ball rolls to Blake's feet. The kids are yelling at him to kick it, but he just stares down at the worn and dusty soccer ball. He glances towards his wrist watch, and knows his dad will be calling him to leave soon. Blake's tired amber eyes drift back to the kids around him—another group of friends he'll walk away from.

"Come on, Blake," Adju calls, an understanding smile on his face.

Blake reluctantly nods and kicks the ball as hard as he can, sending it sailing through the air. The kids run after it, but Blake spins around and runs back towards the house.

"Oh good, I was just about to call you over," Bruce greets. He shuts the back door on the Jeep, a proud smile on his face from cramming seven silver cases in the less-than-spacious back end. "Jeep's packed, and we're all ready. All that's left is your ole' orange."

Blake chuckles. He and his father share an inside joke about his backpack—how much it's been through and how it always seems to get lost. The funny thing is it always finds its way home.

"I'll grab it then." Blake walks inside the one-bedroom stone house and surveys the empty room. The hand-made wooden cots have been stripped of their bedding. Their suitcases have been packed and tossed in the Jeep's backseat, no longer strewn in a controlled mess at the end of their beds. Everything has been cleared out, leaving no presence of the doctor and his son on the dirt floor. Blake sits on the cot he claimed, the one he jammed into the corner to make himself feel safe.

His eyes glance around the room and he pushes out a breath. His shoulders sink as he recalls all the good and bad times that have filled the last seven months of his life. The moment they arrived, when one of the Chinese refugees was carried in here. He had a leg wound that had been festering since he came to the village a month before. And a week later when a little girl came in with a broken tooth. And all the many other odd things that happened to the Banner's after that.

 _This shouldn't be so hard,_ he thinks. _It's not like I haven't done it a hundred times before_. His fingers grip the edge of the bed, not wanting to leave one more time. But he has to, he needs to. He must keep moving, or else he'll never keep up with his dad. Blake finally stands and picks up his backpack. He slings it over his shoulder and stands in the open doorway, looking back one more time.

"Alavida, Kahir, India," he says, halfheartedly saluting the house.

Stepping back into the bright outside, he meets his dad by the back of the vehicle. Bruce rests a hand on Blake's shoulder and smiles.

"Come on, we need to leave for Delhi within the next few minutes if we want to catch our plane in time," Bruce says. But Blake pulls away from his dad, and walks around to the passenger's side. He can feel Bruce's concerned gaze following him, but it doesn't matter. All the teen can think about is how Jennifer was right about everything.

The conversation he overheard all those months ago echoes through his mind. He replays his cousin's words in his head over and over again until he remembers it word for word. It's true, he doesn't have any friends back home. He doesn't have a school life to think about or people to interact with. And the more he realizes this, the more he can't bear to leave another mission site—the only place he's ever felt comfortable.

Within a few minutes, not only have the playing kids gathered around the Jeep, but many of the villagers and refugees have joined the group, all crowding up to say farewell to the "Good Doctors." Blake and Bruce climb into the Jeep and hang out of the doors to get a good look at everyone. Out of nowhere, a young Chinese man zips past the crowd and comes to stand below Bruce.

"Nǐ hǎo, Yao Long," Bruce greets with a bow of his head.

"Nǐ hǎo, Admiral Banner," Yao says, bowing and showing a toothy grin. Bruce and Blake look over the Jeep's frame at each other and laugh at their Chinese friend.

When the two arrived in the Kahir village area, the people assumed that they were apart of International Guard, and not doctors-without-orders. The small group of Chinese refugees the community had graciously taken in didn't know much English at the time. But from troops they'd been around before fleeing China, they picked up a few words. And even though the International Guard is army, and Admiral is a Naval term, they took to calling Bruce by it. Neither Blake nor Bruce have had the heart or patience to explain to them they that they're simply doctors, unaffiliated with S.H.I.E.L.D.

"We—my family—wish to gratify you for your work and conpassion," Yao says, proud of his newfound English.

"Xièxiè," Bruce thanks him. His usage of Chinese brings a grin to Yao's face.

"Thank you to all of you," he says, now addressing the crowd. "When Blake and I arrived seven months ago in response to the war, we didn't know what to expect. But the love and care this community has shown not only the Refugees, but to us—has exceeded anything we could have imagined."

Bruce looks Blake's way, but then teen repositions his gaze, unable to look in his father's eyes. "The physical wounds my son and I helped heal will never compare to the emotional wounds the good people of Kahir have healed," he continues, turning back to the crowd.

Abdul bows his head with a hand over his heart, and Bruce takes one last look at the faces before him. Both young and old, Chinese and Indian, scarred and blemish free. This community is so different from the others they've been in before.

"The war in China misplaced so many people, including those among us, but this community has shown what it truly means to be unified," Bruce says, a quiver in his voice becoming audible. "We thank you for your hospitality and we hope that since the war is over now, all of the refugees can go home soon, too."

The group cheers and throws their hands up for the Banner's. Abdul and Bruce shake hands before he sits down and starts the Jeep. Adju runs around to Blake's side and gives him a high five before the vehicle begins to roll away.

Blake continues to stand, and holds tightly onto the Jeep's steel frame. He waves as the village of Kahir becomes a distant vision in the dust. The young man finally sits down in the cab and buckles himself in. Blake shifts his body away from his father as they find their way onto an adjoining dirt road. He watches closely in the side-view mirror until he can no longer see the single tree at the edge of town, or the line of houses sitting on either side of the road. He stares into the mirror until nothing is left to stare at but dirt. Dull, beige dirt.

The two sit in silence as they ride along, passing by one or two small villages on the road. Blake has decided not to speak to his dad, if possible, until they get to London. Because once they get to London, he won't even have to see him until their flight back to New York City. No, he'll be too busy actually enjoying himself with Gavin Peters—his only close friend. He's got it all planned.

 _We'll just keep driving along without speaking,_ he thinks. _Then when we get on the plane to Heathrow, we'll probably both sleep through the flight. And when we finally get to London, the Peters will pick us up, and I'll spend the rest of the evening talking and joking around with Gavin. Not once will I have to think about going home. It'll be perfect._

But a plan, no matter how perfect, never happens as intended.

"Hey," Bruce says out of nowhere. "You've been pretty quiet all morning, anything I should be worried about?"

"No. I just haven't felt like talking today," Blake says, his tone rigid and cold.

Bruce gives a thoughtful "huh," but voices no reply. Blake is positive his dad probably doesn't know what to say next, or he's picking apart what his son said. Either way, he stays silent in the driver's seat. And, much to Blake's pleasure, an hour or two passes by without either speaking a word. The teen isn't sure if that's a good thing, or if he should be prepared for a passive-aggressive argument with his father.

No such argument comes as the next couple of traveling hours pass by silently. Bruce steers the Jeep onto paved roads, weaving in and out of traffic to find the right route. The sun—now sitting on the horizon—leads them towards the booming capital city of New Delhi. The beauty of civilization lights up the pursuing darkness of night. Gorgeously architected buildings and culturally significant statues come into view, taking Blake's breath away. He remembers passing by them when they landed seven months ago, but there's something about seeing them at night that makes them more bewitching.

Blake has been to many places around the world in his seven years of mission trips. And from each trip he recalls the most interesting things that stood out to him. In Canada and Alaska, it was the Glaciers and icebergs, and the glowing hues of the Northern lights that reflected off the ice. When they visited South Africa, it was the wildlife that came and went as they pleased, and the scarcity of trees on the dusty plains. Northwest China, the mountains that changed colors when the evening sun hit them. And India, the beautiful Capitol buildings. These things collect in the forefront of his memories.

 _Ask me about the world, and I can tell you in great detail how wonderful and truly lovely it is. But ask me about my neighborhood, or if I know my next-door neighbor's name? I wouldn't know how to begin._

The sight-seeing ends as Bruce switches roads. Soon, Indira Gandhi International Airport comes into view. After they make a quick stop by the rental car building, the two leave the Jeep that's been their faithful sidekick since February. And as soon as the leave behind the all-terrain vehicle behind, they find a shuttle that takes them and their luggage to the check-in doors of Terminal 3. Processing takes several minutes, but luckily they had their tickets ready, thanks to Bruce's board-partner, trip organizer, and friend Rick Jones.

After their tickets and passports have been checked, the two neatly stack their silver cases on a cart and roll them through the extravagantly decorated airport to customs. But apparently, the amount of cases causes a couple of TSA officers to give Banner's questioning looks.

A younger officer and an older approach Blake and Bruce with wary-eyed glances.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Bruce says. Blake waits uncomfortably while his dad roots through his backpack for the permission papers. "We were given permission from S.H.I.E.L.D. to fly this equipment with us. We're doctors."

He hands the papers to one of the men, an older looking Indian fellow with graying temples. The man scratches his forehead and reads over the permission papers. "Okay. I'm not going to question S.H.I.E.L.D. but you must pay an excessive baggage fee."

"Of course," Bruce complies. The TSA officers count the seven silver cases and their two pieces of personal luggage while Bruce opens his wallet to extra bag fees. Once their backpacks have been rummaged through and checked thoroughly, Blake and Bruce move on to the International departure. The teen can't help but look back to find the two officers both shake their heads, laughing to themselves. He can imagine that he and his dad probably seem suspicious, or just plain weird to them.

The International departure spreads out farther than the main gate, but the bright oranges, reds and gold carpet and modern lighting carry over. Gift shops and snack stops are scattered up and down the walkways leading to the departure pier out the east side of the building. But when Blake notices his dad look down at his watch, his eyes land on his own wrist watch. They have less than five minutes to get to their plane.

"I thought we had more time!" Bruce says, rushing Blake towards the pier. "We need to get to our plane now."

"I'm right behind you," Blake says, struggling to run and push the luggage cart at the same time.

The two make a break for the cargo drop-off that will send their equipment ahead to America, and they jog down to section A, all the way at the end of the pier. _Of course_ , Blake thinks. Their plane would be farthest away.

"I see gate seven! We're almost there," Blake calls to his dad. But Bruce is ahead of him. He speeds up and runs evenly with his dad now as they approach their gate. A young woman dressed in her airport uniform stands at the entrance and greets them with a smile.

"Flight 1704 to London," she directs. The short tunnel the girl points down opens out to the brilliant white of the Air India jet glowing in the spotlights of the tarmac, parked and waiting for them.

"Thanks," Bruce says breathlessly, handing her their tickets. The two slow to a speed-walk and finally make their way on board the plane.

The cool, air-conditioned atmosphere is a nice contrast to the dry summer heat the two have lived in the past few months. A warm smile and a "welcome" from a flight attendant greets them, and she leads them to two comfortable looking seats on the far right aisle against the window.

But as relaxing as the idea of a soft, cushioned chair sounds, Blake hesitates sitting down. Bruce takes his suitcase and backpack from his hands and shoves it in the overhead compartment.

"You're not gonna jump at the window seat?" he asks, noting that Blake is still standing.

"You can have it."

Bruce raises an eyebrow at his son's odd behavior but shrugs it off and takes the window seat. Blake slinks into the chair next to him and sighs heavily. _Dang, these are comfy,_ he thinks, crossing his arms over his chest as if he didn't want them to be comfortable. The teen turns and looks past his dad out the window to see how near they are to take-off, since he needs time to prepare. The only part about flying he despises is taking off and landing. Because the irrational, paranoid voice in his head reminds him that more plane accidents happen after take-off and before landing. Nervousness sets in and Blake can feel his leg shaking into overdrive, so much so, that his chair starts rattling. Bruce must feel the reverberations because his hand lands on his son's right knee, stilling it.

"We haven't even taken off yet," Bruce reasons.

"I know," Blake says, shooing his dad's hand away. He turns his head and his eyes scan the aisles. He notes the last of the passengers board and sit down, while one of the attendants pulls the door shut. Blake's eyes dart towards the window again as the engines start up. _Here we go,_ he thinks, closing his eyes. The "Buckle Up" sign lights up at the front of the cabin, and plane begins to move down the runway. Within a few minutes, the Jet full of people is in the air and headed to Heathrow International in London, England.

"We're in the air now," Bruce whispers. "I think it's safe to open your eyes."

Blake's crack open to see nothing but dark sky out the window. He sighs heavily and relaxes in his seat. _At least we're in the air now, not that I want to be here._

The teen's eyes shut again and he inhales deeply. They can't get to London fast enough for him. At least if he can't be in India, he can be there, where his friend is. After he joined his father's missions at ten, the two spent a lot of time there with the Peters. It became the second home Blake wishes the first home could be more like. Even just a little bit.

The closer London gets, the better. So, to pass the time gap, Blake settles in, hopefully to sleep through some of the flight. But as soon as he gets comfortable, his dad softly touches his shoulder.

"Blake," Bruce whispers. His father's voice is calm but expectant. Blake inwardly groans and opens his eyes.

"Yes, dad?"

"You've been too quiet today. I know how hard leaving day is, but maybe if you talked about it, it wouldn't be so hard?"

Blake remains silent and unmoving as Bruce waits for him to say something. But what comes out of his mouth next, neither were expecting. "No."

"Excuse me?" Bruce questions.

"You heard me dad, I said no. I don't want to talk about it," he says, raising his voice. Bruce looks around to see if anyone heard him, but Blake isn't finished. No, he's just getting started. "I don't want to talk about leaving, or going home. You know what? It'd be nice if we didn't even mention Harlem, New York until we land in JFK."

Blake has never seen his father so perplexed before. "Firstly, don't raise your voice at me, and second; if you have a problem with me, then spit it out," Bruce says firmly.

Blake shifts towards his dad. "Okay dad, you want the truth, here it is. I do have a problem with you, and I have a problem with myself. I hate the way we live, going from place to place, leaving when I've just gotten comfortable there. I know going in that it's not permanent, but a part of me doesn't care. Part of me doesn't care if we ever go home because I have nothing at home."

Bruce sits in silence, puzzlement written on his face as Blake continues.

"I have no friends at home, nothing to look forward to when we get back like school or a job. Why couldn't you just let me grow up normally? Sure, ten years went by when I was at home, and homeschooling was cool then. But I'm over. I've been over it. I'm tired of moving so fast and I'm tired of feeling isolated," Blake pauses, staring his dad in the eyes. "There's the truth dad. If it were up to me, I would never go home. Because I have no reason to."

And just like that, all the tension and pressure that had building up in the teen is released.

Bruce simply drops his eyes to the floor and says nothing. Blake turns his body back towards the aisle and reclines his seat slightly, resting his head for the overnight trip through the time zones. He shuts his eyes, hoping that after his peace was spoken that he'll be able to sleep. Luckily, the collective tiredness of the past seven months catches up to him and before long, he's fast asleep. The rest of the flight is spent dreaming of empty houses and a darkened future.

 **Heathrow Airport, London England. Sunday, September 7** **th** **. 5:35 pm.**

Blake has had some awkward times in his life so far. Like when he was eleven and a restaurant waitress asked his dad if he wanted a six and under menu for him. Or when he was 14 and that girl in the dentist's office kept staring at him while he waited to get called back for a cleaning.

But sitting on this cold, wrought-iron bench outside Terminal 4 with his dad probably takes the cake. He and Bruce sit on opposite ends as they wait for the Peters to pick them up. Their luggage sits stacked in between them, simply filling in the gap. Never has he been so ready to see the Phil and Janna's old, beat up, black BMW Alpina pull up. Anything to spare him enduring this silence. He can feel it, any minute now Bruce is going to bring up the way he acted on the plane.

 _Maybe if I speak first—act like nothing happened—I can cut off his chance to say something,_ he thinks. "Do you think they're stuck in traffic?" Blake spouts abruptly.

Bruce gives him a thoughtful glance before answering. "I don't know. It does seem pretty busy here, so it's a possibility."

A constant rotation of taxis around Terminal 4's drive whiz by the Banners. But with no sign of their British friends anywhere, they begin to wonder if they're coming at all. The Peters, ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists and good friends of Bruce's, have allowed the two to stay at their home in Isleworth each time they pass through London. And even though their next plane for New York doesn't leave until later tonight, they have very little time to waste. Clouds overhead begin to gather and thicken and fade to a dark gray. And as the temperature suddenly drops, bringing with it a chilling breeze, Blake has a feeling they're about to get rained on.

"I hope they get here soon, I'm too tired to dig out a rain jacket," Blake says.

"Well, you may need to."

"Bruce! Blake!" yells a voice from the curbing in front of them.

The two snap their heads towards the voice, thankful to see Phillip, Janna, their son Gavin, and that old BMW practically falling apart in the drive. The Banner's rise from the bench to greet them, and end up in a group hug.

"Glad you guys finally showed up," Blake jokes, getting pulled into the hug.

"What Blake means is we were beginning to wonder where you guys were," Bruce says.

The five break apart. "We would've been here sooner, but the traffic was absolute murder!" Phil explains, taking Blake's luggage and tossing it in the trunk with Bruce's.

"Oh Phil, don't you dare act like it wasn't partly that car's fault!" Janna says, pointing at the BMW. "Anyway, I've got supper waiting on everyone at home and I don't want it to get cold, so let's go!"

The crew hops in, Phil driving and Bruce his co-pilot, while Janna takes a seat in the back with Blake and Gavin. As soon as Blake find his spot in the middle, he plants his backpack firmly between his feet.

"You sure this thing is gonna make it, Mrs. Janna?" Blake wonders. Gavin elbows him hard in his ribs and smirks.

"I thought we were going to break apart on the drive over," he laughs. Gavin, with spikey copper hair, and a mischievous light behind his dark brown eyes, he begins telling his friend about everything that's happened to him since they last video chatted. Blake relaxes into the back bench comfortably and smiles, listening closely to what Gavin says.

Apparently, he doesn't like school, which brings up the "I'm-jealous-you're-a-homeschooler" rant. An eye roll later and Gavin moves on to complaining about his terrible wifi, or his "hinky net," as he calls it. But as he continues to run through the highs and lows of the past few months, Blake's amber eyes begin to drift towards his dad. Bruce's gaze is positioned out the side window, no doubt looking at the many beautiful estates they pass by on the Great Southwest road. But Blake can't help but wonder what's currently going through his father's mind.

 _Is he mad at me?_ Blake thinks. _I wonder if I made him feel bad…well…good! I hope he feels bad. I think?_

Soon the car brings them to the northwest neighborhood of Isleworth. They reach the roundabout that takes them into the Peters' neighborhood on Springwell. But after Phil makes the turn onto Burns Way, the car begins to shudder.

"Dad! It's doing it again," Gavin points out.

"I can hear that, boy," Phil replies. Phil starts slowly caressing the dashboard. "Come on ole' girl, we're almost home."

Burns Way transitions into Browning Way, but the vehicle begins slowing down as they turn. Their home is just up the road, simply a turn away. But the "ole' girl" isn't having it. The BMW begins shaking harder than before, and within the blink of an eye, shuts off completely. It slowly rolls to a stop and the passengers look around at each other.

Phillip sinks into the driver's seat and sighs. "Boys, would you mind so much helping me push this hunk of rubbish up the road a tad?"

The boys in the back glance at each other, but Gavin and Blake can barely hold their laughter.

"We'd be glad to, Mr. Phil," Blake offers, suppressing his laughter. His first real laugh in days.

Janna walks around and hops into the driver's seat, taking the steering wheel while the others get out and push the car down the road. Considering how small the car is, Blake didn't think it would be hard to push at all, but he soon realizes he was wrong. Even with the combined strength of all four of them shoving it forward, the car isn't going anywhere fast. They come to the turn onto Springwell, and Janna yells out the window.

"We're almost there, boys!"

The four continue to trudge along when a chilling gust sweeps down the street. A soft thundering sound echoes in the distance and without warning, rains begins to pelt their backs.

"Really?!" Blake yells at the sky. The young man wipes at his cherry glasses futilely. "Now I can't see."

"Just take them off. I'll hold them for you," Bruce offers, holding out a hand to take them. Blake stares at his dad a moment before handing over his glasses. Bruce tucks the spectacles safely away in his shirt pocket. "Just keep walking straight."

Now completely soaked and dripping, the guys push the car through the crowded neighbor, until the Peters' shotgun house finally comes into view. They shout triumphantly and push harder against the back bumper, jolting it forward. Janna turns the wheel sharp into the squared concrete drive enclosed by a small brick wall, but the boys struggle to push it up on the curb. They all give it one last push, and Janna quickly parks it.

"Come on, boys!" she yells as she runs to unlock the front door. Gavin and Blake trail behind her, but without his glasses, Blake struggles to see. He slowly walks forward, but the rain begins to come down harder. The drops pelt his exposed arms as he wobbles to the front door. Just as he's about the miss the step up on the front door, he feels a set of arms grab hold of his back and guide him.

"I got you," comes Bruce's comforting voice.

"Thanks dad," Blake says, his voice a quiet mumble. _Now I_ really _have no idea what's going on in his head._

The dipping wet group crowds into the small entrance of the house. Phil somehow managed to grab both of their backpacks before he came in, a relieved sight to Blake. The teen turns around to look through the glass on the front door just in time to see the rain cease completely. _Of course, it stops raining,_ he thinks, rolling his eyes.

"Everyone stay put and I'll go fetch some towels," Janna tells the men. "But don't step foot off that rug!" She points to the black rubber welcome mat under their feet, and heads up the stairs directly in front of them.

"Yes mum," Phil says, winking at her. "But hurry, we're freezing!"

Bruce places Blake's glasses in his hands. "You might need these."

Blake unfolds the glasses and slides them on. He peers through the water-sprayed lenses, happy to have his sight back. The teen looks around at the entrance, one he hasn't stood in since last year. The "shoe bench," as Janna calls it, stills sits by the wall on his left, with wicker baskets underneath that hold various sneakers and sandals. The hooked shelf still hangs opposite of the bench with several hoodies and sweaters draped over the silver hooks. The hard floor beneath him is still scuffed from all the times he and Bruce have trekked through here with their rolling suitcases. Next, the smell of a pork roast fills the air. With one deep inhale, the scent warms Blake to the bones. Janna glides back down the stairs with her arms full of brown and tan colored towels.

"Janna, you didn't have to cook a big meal for us," Bruce says, passing a towel to Blake.

"Bruce, it's Sunday! I always cook a big supper on Sunday," Janna explains.

"Roast, carrots, peas and potatoes," Phil adds. "She even got some sweet apple sauce to go with it."

A grin tugs at Blake's lips as the aroma becomes too intoxicating to bear. "Mrs. Janna, as hungry as I am, I don't think I can properly enjoy such a meal in these clothes," Blake says, gesturing to his soaked clothing articles.

"Yeah mum, how 'bout we all change first?" Gavin adds. "I don't want to hear my shoes squishing all throughout supper."

Janna purses her lips and nods. "Yes. Yes, of course. Everyone go freshen up, then meet back at the dining room table. That'll give me time to set the table."

The boys begin to walk in different directions, but Janna stops them. "Hold it! Wet shoes on the rug, please!"

Blake gladly snatches off his vans and bright green socks. If there's one thing he hates, it's wet socks. He is convinced that wet socks are a form of torture.

"Well," Phil starts, turning towards their brightly colored bags. "I sure hope those knapsacks repel water, because if you've got any clothes in there, they'll be just as wet as the ones on you," he laughs. Blake and Bruce unzip their respective backpacks and pull out some fresh, dry clothes.

"Blake, you can change in my bathroom," Gavin offers. The two boys run up the stairs and take the first door on the right. The door opens to Gavin's messy room. Clothes strewn about, his darkly colored bed half made and a wad of tangled up wires piled up by his desk.

"Wow, you cleaned up in here," Blake remarks.

"Oh, ha-ha. Funny." Gavin mockingly curls his lip, and picks up a loose shoe from the floor, throwing at Blake. Blake ducks just in time, allowing the shoe to fly by his head. He darts into the bathroom and slams to the door behind him to start changing.

"Missed!" he says through the door.

"I won't next time. Remember, there's only one way out of that bathroom!" Gavin retorts.

Blake rolls his eyes and places his dry clothes on the counter. He pulls his off soaked shirt and twists it over the sink, attempting to wring out some of the water. But, while he does so, he notices that—oddly enough—the bathroom is spotless. No clothes lying around, no shoes littering the floor or wires to trip over. Just soft, fluffy rugs underfoot, with a matching shower curtain and towels.

"Nice," Blake comments.

"So Blake, I couldn't help but notice your dad seemed quiet in the car," Gavin says loudly.

"Yeah, so?" he answers as he replaces his cargo shorts with a fresh set of blue jeans. He hangs his wet clothes over the shower curtain rod to dry, and finishes changing.

"I just thought something might be wrong. You know, since your dad and my dad love to talk."

A clean t-shirt now hangs on his scrawny body as he begins to dry his damp hair. "Well, we did kinda get into a fight on the plane."

"I knew it!" Gavin exclaims as Blake reenters his room—now in dry clothes and sporting the wet-grunge hair style. "Well, I didn't know that exactly, but I knew something was wrong! What happened?"

Blake straddles his friend's desk chair and slumps over the back. "I really don't remember everything I said, but it got pretty heated. I remember closing my eyes during take-off—you'd think as many years as I've been flying, I would've gotten over it by now. But I was shaking my leg because I was nervous. Dad put his hand on my knee to stop it from jiggling so much."

"Were you shaking the whole plane?" Gavin asks jokingly.

"No," Blake rolls his eyes. "But I did snap at him. Then a little bit later, dad asked me why I was so quiet, and if I wanted to talk."

"And?"

"And…I don't know what came over me! It was like something inside me snapped, and all this pressure from who knows where just blew. I know I was upset because it was leaving day, but I started accusing him of some pretty bad things."

Gavin curiously raises his eyebrows. "What kind of bad things?"

"Oh you know, robbing me of the normal childhood I could've had. Keeping me isolated during the short time we're home," Blake says, leaning back against the desk behind him. "I'm also relatively sure I blamed him for not having any friends—other than you, of course!"

"Of course," Gavin smiles. "So, what did he say?"

"Nothing. He just sat there, and took every disrespectful thing I had to say."

"Wow," Gavin says, leaning back on his elbows.

Blake props his head on his crossed arms. "Yeah." The next voice that comes is Janna's from downstairs.

"Dinner!" she calls. The boys stand and make their way into the dining room to the left.

"Have you asked him about college yet?" Gavin whispers as they approach the table.

"Are you kidding? After what I said to him today, we may not get past small talk for weeks."

The Oakwood table before them is set with gold colored plates, paper napkins and shiny silverware. An ivory runner and yellow sunflowers decorate the oval-shaped table, and the boys take a seat beside each other. Phil and Bruce come to the table moments later, each sitting directly across from their sons.

"You need any help in there, love?" Phil aims his question over his shoulder, towards the kitchen archway to the right.

No answer is needed when the short woman walks into the dining room balancing a weighted down plate of juicy pork roast in her arms. "Here we are," she says, gently placing the plate in the center of the table. Janna takes a seat at the head of the table, but tells the men to take turns on the food, like civilized people. The warm fragrance of the roast is dancing around Blake's nose, and those carrots and potatoes laying around the meat isn't helping his growling stomach.

Everyone takes their turns loading up their plates with the delicious looking meal, but all move too slowly for Blake. Ironically, he ends up being the last to have the roast passed to him.

"All right boys, let me take a bite first," Janna says. The Peters have a tradition where whoever cooked the meal, gets to taste first, just to see if it's good enough for the others to eat. But right now, the tradition couldn't be more annoying considering how long Janna takes to decide whether she likes it or not. Blake watches closely as she narrows her green eyes and purses her lips in thought. Now on the edge of his chair, he inches his hands closer and closer to his fork and knife. _Come on Mrs. Janna,_ he thinks. _I'm dying of hunger over here._

And finally, she speaks. "Seems good enough to me." And on that note, the four guys dig in.

 **131 Springwell Road, Isleworth. 6:17 pm.**

Laughter erupts from the partially cleared dining table after dinner has been devoured. Blake recalls weird happenings from their adventure in India to the Peters. Janna and Phil share stories alongside him from the times they went to India, stories Blake has heard many times before. But talking about their trips is something they enjoy, and why would he dare interrupt? He simply sits back in his chair and listens as if he's never heard it before. However, the conversations and storytelling has been void of Bruce's input all evening. Not a peep has escaped his lips, save for the occasional nod, smile or chuckle. And Blake can't help but feel responsible.

 _I didn't think it would be this bad,_ he thinks. _What if he doesn't say anything at all until we get home? Or…what if…what if he stops talking to me all together?_ The thoughts rushing to his mind are enough to give him a headache. But the headache takes a back burner when he notices Janna gathering dishes, and struggling to carry them all.

Blake begins to stand but Bruce has beat him to it. "Janna," he says, "here. Let me wash the dishes tonight."

"Absolutely not! I will not have you come all the way from India, push Phil's car up the road in the rain, then wash my dishes!" She manages to steady all five dinner plates, but struggles when she reaches for the silverware.

"Here Mrs. Janna, let me," Blake says, taking to plates from her arms. Bruce picks up the forks and knives, while Gavin snatches up the glasses of water.

She huffs a sigh and begins to smile. "If you boys insist."

"You and Dad go chill in the den, we won't be long," Gavin winks.

Phil and Janna take each other by the hand, walking towards their living room while the other three head through the arch into the kitchen. Bright yellow walls make the kitchen pop along with the white subway tiles that line the counter. The open floor gives plenty of room to work around, even with the breakfast table taking up the left end of the room.

Blake and Bruce piles their dishes in the sink, and Gavin places the cups on the counter. "Hey Gavin," Bruce says. The teens glance at each other as a boom of thunder echoes outside. "Blake and I can take it from here."

Blake shoots a look of distress towards his friend but he's already on his way out of the kitchen. "Of course, Mr. Bruce. The dishes are all yours." Bruce smiles awkwardly until Gavin is out of earshot, but instead of pouncing on Blake, he starts washing the dishes.

The sink fills with hot water and soap, bubbling up in white puffs. Bruce waits a moment for the dishes to soak. "You wanna wash or rinse?" he asks. Blake stands to the side and tries to get a read on his dad, but no vibe sticks out.

"I guess I can rinse." Blake steps closer to his dad, and stands in front of the empty side of the sink, ready to place wet dishes in the plastic drain board to his left.

The silence that envelops the kitchen is a pained one. Blake isn't sure whether he should prepare for the worst, or simply cope with the unsettling tension between them. Is there even any tension? Blake knows there's some on his side, but his dad has been acting weird since they woke up on the plane earlier. He just stepped past Blake and carefully pulled the luggage out of the overhead without a word. The walk through the terminal—not a single word uttered. Even now, he keeps silent. If there were ever a time Blake wished he could read minds, now is it.

The monotonous squeaking of the sponge against the plates grinds on Blake's nerves. But along with the occasional clap of thunder, the water spilling out of the faucet and off the dishes is enough to fill the space between them. And to Blake, it's actually kind of soothing—the steady flow of clear warm water dripping into the white sink. The way the soap suds from the silverware swirl around as they shrink down the drain. Now that he has something to focus on, the quiet isn't so bad. It's nice.

But the wordless washing finally comes to an end when Bruce parts his lips to speak. "Blake," he says.

The teen reluctantly answers, "Yeah dad?"

He waits a moment, obviously articulating his words. "On the plane earlier—"

"I know what I said was harsh dad, and I'm really sorry I just…I was upset," Blake cuts in.

"I know." Bruce's honey brown eyes never stray from the plate he scrubs. "But in all fairness, you were right."

Blake blinks, frozen in his position. "Wait…I was?"

"Yes," Bruce answers. "About everything. It's just taken me a while to admit it." Blake lifts his eyes to his father's face, waiting for his next words. Bruce's brow furrows in thought as he continues softly.

"Before you—before Betty—I was always moving. Running was all I knew how to do. Sure, I had the Avengers for a while, but I was still on the move. Never stopping." Bruce's words catch in his throat, as if recalling a memory from a time in his life Blake still knows nothing about. "But Betty helped change all of that, she helped change me. And when you came along, I had so many reasons to stay."

The teen listens intently, watching his dad's expression change as his story progresses. Happiness and sadness come and go, but a hollow appearance lingers. A hollowness Blake can hear through the ever calm of his dad's voice.

"But after Betty…passed, I just—I couldn't stay anymore. It's not that you weren't reason enough to be still, I just wanted to go back to what was comfortable," he pauses, rubbing a fork between the wash cloth in his hands. "But I wasn't about to leave you behind. And when I saw how your face lit up with excitement on that first trip I took you on, I thought everything would be okay…and it was for a while. You didn't seem to mind pulling out of your homeschool group to travel the world with your dad."

Blake's gaze drifts down to the silverware waiting to be rinsed. He remembers that first trip. The two of them went to Mexico, not exactly the safest place for a ten-year-old, but he was too beside himself with the amazement of being in another country. Those were good times.

"I know the last couple of years have been hard. I was so wrapped up in getting us to China to help with the war, I didn't notice how uncomfortable you were becoming with all of this. I guess the wonder of traveling to new places wore off."

"It wasn't just that, dad…" Blake admits, his eyes resting on his father again.

A heavy sigh escapes Bruce's lips. "I know. It was the fact that I was trying to drag you along with the life I wanted to live. A life that isn't you." Bruce wrings out the wash cloth and drapes it over the faucet, clenching his hands on the edge of the counter. And for the first time in the conversation, Bruce meets his son's eyes. Their gazes lock for a moment, both silently trying to understand the other before drifting back to their tasks.

"I know that you've been looking at colleges—City College in Manhattanville is a good school," he says, dipping his hands back into the sink.

Blake's amber eyes widen. "You know about that?"

Bruce chuckles. "Of course I know. You had the information packet stuffed in one of your not-so-secret hiding places at home. Although, I thought maybe you would want to go to a larger school."

A smile breaks out across the teen's face. "That option hasn't been completely ruled out yet."

"I didn't think it was," Bruce smirks. "I just wish you'd talked to me about it sooner. We could've had some kind of plan worked out."

Blake's smile fades and is replaced by a downcast expression as he thinks about all the times he wanted to talk to his dad about graduating early and going to college. But Bruce was so consumed with organizing this trip, he wanted so badly to help with the civil war efforts in China, Blake's wants took a back seat. The many nights Blake thought about getting up from his bed and walking down stairs to talk come back to his mind. But every time he was stopped by fear that he might seem selfish. And being selfish is the last thing Blake wants, considering how hard Bruce raised him not to be.

"I didn't want it to seem like I was putting my wants ahead of yours. I mean, you worked so hard to get us as far as India…I just couldn't do it," he says, rinsing the dishes Bruce lays in his side of the sink.

Bruce shakes his head, a grin pulling at his lips. "Talking about your future is far from selfish, Blake." He wraps a soapy hand around Blake's shoulder. "If something's up, please come talk to me. I don't want anything to come between such a good partnership."

Blake's smile returns. "We are a pretty good team, aren't we?"

The two share a moment before Bruce answers. "The best."

"Dad," Blake starts.

"Yeah?"

"Your hand is soaking my shirt."

Bruce recoils his hand, finding a dry spot on his palm. "I'm sorry! I—uh...guess I wasn't paying attention."

Blake laughs it off, picking up a kitchen towel and patting his shoulder dry. "It's okay."

The two finish washing the dishes from dinner, and soon they retire to the den with the Peters. The boys head back upstairs to Gavin's room to watch TV until their eyes blur, while Bruce, Phil and Janna stay downstairs in the family room, talking about their kids and what the future might hold for them.

The next few hours of interaction pass by quickly, and before long it's time to leave for the airport again, this time, with New York as the destination. The Peters had planned on giving them a ride back to Heathrow, that is, before the Alpina broke down and they had to push it in the rain. With that idea tossed out the window, Phil decides to call a taxi, or as they call it in London, a "hackney."

With the cab on its way, Blake and Bruce don their backpacks and step outside to unload their luggage from the BMW's trunk. The Banners stand at the end of the driveway and the Peters join them as they wait for the cab. Their visit might have been short, but it was well worth it to Blake. To be able to spend time with his friend in person opposed to over the internet, and to finally talk to his dad about what's been bothering him. Blake would some this up to a good visit, minus pushing the car in the rain of course.

Within a minute, a black cab rolls up to the sidewalk. The driver rolls down the front passenger window and smiles. "You must be the Banners."

"Yes sir," Blake says, returning a smile. Bruce takes their luggage and loads it in the back of the cab, then turns back to their friends to say goodbye.

Bruce grabs Phil's hand and shakes it warmly. "It was great to see you guys. Thanks for everything."

"It was wonderful to have the two of you back," Janna says, kissing Bruce on the cheek.

"Until next time," Blake starts, offering Gavin a fist bump.

Gavin smirks. "Next time, I won't miss," he winks, ramming his fist into Blake's.

And once more, the Banners and Peters part ways, another visit in the history books.

"So," Bruce starts, looking to his son with a smile. "Are you ready to go home?"

The question resonates in Blake's mind. Earlier today, Blake wasn't even sure he knew what home meant, but after sharing his troubles with his dad in a slightly dramatic way, this question isn't a difficult one. The last few years, he's spent so much time and emotion needlessly forcing himself to believe that his home wasn't home. He's spent so much time thinking the house he grew up in was just that, a house. A house that would never be anything more than a reminder that he was happier when he was a kid. A reminder that felt like a prison.

But now, those thoughts slowly chip away as his mind makes room for ideas about the future. A future in New York, at home. A future he'll make for himself in the place he's now excited to go back to. Because now, Blake's home is starting to look a lot more like an open door than a prison.

And knowing this gives him the confidence to look his father in the eyes and smile. "Yeah dad, let's go home."

 **118** **th** **street, Harlem, New York. Sunday, September 7** **th** **. 5:58 p.m.**

Time hopping across time zones is enough to mess with you, but it doesn't matter of it's seven in the morning or ten at night, Blake is happy to be home—finally.

The Banner's drag all their luggage from the taxi cab they loaded down when they arrived at JFK. The driver gave the two a funny look, but didn't refuse the generous tip Bruce offered. Now, the doctors come to stand on the sidewalk in front of their townhouse, surrounded by luggage and ready for some much-needed rest.

Bruce pulls his house keys from his backpack and climbs the concrete steps leading to the front door, with Blake right behind him. He shoves the key into the lock and opens the door. The cherry wood door creaks open to reveal their living room and kitchen, in spotless condition.

"Wow! Jen took great care of this place," Blake comments, stepping inside.

"Yeah, doesn't even smell musty," Bruce adds. The two look around, taking in every square inch of their home to see what's changed, or in this case what hasn't changed. The furniture is still covered in dirty white cloth, but the plants in the window seat by the door look greener than when they left seven months ago. The boys drop their backpacks on the floor by the door and begin rolling luggage in, carefully carrying the silver cases up the steps. Before they finish, Blake is sure his father told him to "be careful" at least nine times. To which he replied each time, "I got it dad."

All seven cases are now stacked neatly on the kitchen island, and the airport taxi speeds away from the sidewalk after Bruce hands over the fare for the trip. Bruce steps back inside, closing the door behind him.

"So dad, what do you wanna unpack first?" Blake asks, tapping his fingers on a silver case.

"How about we take care of that tomorrow, huh?"

Blake shrugs, halfheartedly nodding in agreement and joining his father in plopping down on the couch. Without removing the sheet before they sit, the two send up a cloud of dust around them, a cloud that coats them thoroughly. Once the dust settles, the two glance at each other and laugh. And just as they start to relax—for the first time in seven months—Bruce's holophone can be heard ringing from his backpack.

The man grunts, rolling his eyes as he forces himself up. He riffles through the various zipped pouches on his pack before finding the bar. The center button blinks bright green, and Bruce extends it to answer.

"Hello?" Blake turns his body and peers over the back of the couch, watching his dad's expressions react to the caller. "Yes Rick, we're home."

The teen smiles. Rick Jones—probably one of the most excitable young men he's ever met—always checks in with them after their flights to make sure they stick to the schedule. A tight schedule Rick put a lot of time and effort into planning with Bruce. Rick came on board the mission when Blake was eleven. He was just a college student then, studying communications. But when he showed interest to Bruce on helping while at a conference, Bruce and Tony took him on as an intern. He helps plan, organize and raise funds for the trips, even adding a little input from time to time. And over the past few years, he and the Banners have become close friends.

Blake decides to get up and take his suitcase and backpack upstairs to the loft, leaving his dad to talk business with Rick. He rolls his body off the couch and wraps a hand around the handle to his suitcase, lugging it up the hardwood stairs, thumping on each step. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, he pauses to take in nakedness of his room. Nothing is out of place on his desk, his telescope still points out the small attic window across the room, and the shelf in his closet still holds clothes. But there's something about his uncovered mattress and lack of hanging clothes that makes his room seem lifeless.

 _I suppose I'll just have to fix that, huh?_

And so, he grabs a thick stack of cloth from narrow chest-of-drawers by his closet—matching sheets, pillow cases and a quilt. The teen snatches the dirty white sheet from his bed and begins making it up with the set he pulled out. He continues from there and unpacks his suitcase, tossing many of his clothes into the laundry hamper for washing later. Within a few minutes, the naked look that made Blake feel uneasy has been replaced with a lived-in vibe. He proudly props his fists on his hips and smiles, glancing around at his work.

"Well done, Blake." The curly-headed teen jumps onto his bed and sighs heavily. But his moment of enjoyment ends when he hears Bruce raise his voice downstairs. With a raised eyebrow, he gets up and cautiously steps over towards the top of the stairs to listen.

"What do you mean Med Corp is pulling out?" Bruce says. "Why would they do that?"

 _Uh-oh,_ Blake thinks at the mention of one of their main funding partners—the funding partner that supplies them with new medical equipment every year. He hops down two steps at a time to see what's up. "Dad?"

On reaching the kitchen, Blake is met with a hand asking him to wait while his father's cheeks slowly turn red in frustration. "What?"

Blake impatiently taps his foot as he searches Bruce's expression, trying to pick up on something that might hint at what's happening. But no such hint reveals itself, and the teen is left guessing.

"Well what did Goodyear say? Did he give a reason as to why?" Bruce continues to Rick. Blake raises his brow expectantly but his dad hold up his free hand, wordlessly asking for a minute.

The young Banner rolls his amber eyes. "I never get to know what's going on until after it matters…" he mumbles. But when his eyes land back on his father, something in the phone conversation has caused a shift in the mood. A shift that drains every trace of color from Bruce's face, turning him as white as a sheet.

"What is it, dad?" Blake asks, leaning in with widening eyes.

Bruce's once bright honey colored eyes lift to meet Blake's, his jaw suspended in shock. "Charles Goodyear is dead."

Disbelief and confusion overtake the teen as he attempts to wrap his head around what his father has told him. Charles Goodyear—the CEO of Med Corp and a friend of Bruce's—is dead? Blake can't believe it. There's just no way…But the expression Bruce still holds says otherwise.

"Are you sure?" Blake asks.

"Rick just told me he was found dead in his home. Apparently is was a heart attack," Bruce answers. "Listen Rick, I'm gonna put you on speaker."

Blake's eyes narrow suspiciously as his father turns on the in-call speaker. Mr. Goodyear is probably one of the healthiest people Blake knows—knew. There's no way he died of a heart attack. "Well what's gonna happen to the company? To us?" Blake wonders.

"One of Goodyear's underlings, Leonard Getz, is gunning for his position, and until they have things sorted out, they've pulled their funding on us and everyone else," Rick answers, his usually happy voice grave.

"Getz," Bruce says angrily, placing the phone on the counter. "I should've known."

"Wait, who's Leonard Getz?" Blake asks.

Bruce sighs, shaking his head as if recalling a bad memory. "Leonard Getz is the son of a former A.I.M. Scientist Supreme. I never felt right about him working for Med Corp—he was always too nice to Charles. Now I know why."

"Woah now, Bruce. We can't accuse people of committing murder," Rick interrupts in a nervous tone. "The best thing for us to do is just stay out of the way, for now at least."

"Rick, we can't let them do this. You know as well as I do that if they appoint Getz head of the company, they'll stop supplying us permanently. Us and every other charity Charles took on," Bruce points out.

Blake sighs heavily. "So what are we gonna do now?"

"I've already spoken to Mr. Stark and he said he'd be willing to help supply your trips with new equipment," Rick says.

"No! I'm not going to ask Tony to do any more than he already does," Bruce replies harshly.

"Well I've already set up a meeting for us with him. He said he'd even video call T'Challa in Wakanda for advice," Rick explains, pausing. "Look Bruce, I get that you feel like you'd be taking advantage of your friends, but they want to help you. Especially if Med Corp is turning to the dark side."

"He makes a good point, Dad," Blake says. The teen and his father stare at each other for a moment. "That's what friends are for, right?"

Blake offers a comforting smile and finally, Bruce nods, accepting defeat. "Yeah, you're right. Okay, Rick, we'll meet with Tony. But asking Tony to be our mission supplier will be our last resort. We'll work something else out before we ask for more from him."

"Okay then, we agreed on next Monday. You know, to give you two some time to adjust and rest up," Rick says, a warmth returning to his voice. "Welcome home, guys."

"Thanks, man," Blake says as Bruce ends the call. Silence fills the room and Bruce stares down at his holophone.

Blake wraps an arm around his dad's shoulders. "Everything will work out, Dad. You'll see."

Bruce glances at his son with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I know," he says, pulling Blake into a side hug.

Even though this night didn't turn out at all how he expected it to, Blake is content. Not necessarily okay with what's happening at the current moment, but content with fact that now, no matter what, Blake knows for sure that he and his father will face their struggles together. As a team. And a team is what it will take to face the struggle that has only just begun.

Outside their home sits a man cloaked in darkness and watching out the window of an empty townhome across from the Banner's own. The house has been vacant for years, and it doesn't seem as though this man has moved in, as the room he waits in is dark and void of furniture. But even more curious, the man holds a finger to his left ear, while his other hand rests on a long hard case propped against the wall. The voices of the Banners can be heard through an earpiece. But with the tap of his finger, a new voice can be heard.

"What do you hear?" comes a woman's voice, low and soft but with a raspy quality.

"The Banners are headed to Stark Tower soon to meet up with Mr. Big-Shot about funding problems. Med Corp or some mess," says the man. "Looks like it may go down over the weekend."

The woman offers a thoughtful sound before replying. "Perfect. A public place is exactly where we want this to happen."

"Are you sure about this? I mean, he's just a kid."

"I didn't hire you to ask questions, I hired you to do a job."

The man sighs, rubbing his forehead exasperatedly. "What do you want me to do?"

"What we talked about. Get a clear shot, then shoot. Or need I remind you again how vital the result of this experiment is?"

"No."

"Good," she says, pausing. "Then let the revolution begin."

* * *

 **A/N:** Confused yet? I know I am! Please drop me a review and tell me what you think! Stay tuned.

 **Up next:** Captain America's legacy.

Hey I just posted this...and this is crazy...but since you've read it...review it maybe?


	4. Chapter 3: A Hero's Welcome

**A/N:** Hey guys! I'm back with another chapter! Yay! I felt really bad for the long wait for last chapter, so hopefully posting this will make up for it. This next chapter ties into the same situation the Banners have just come from, but this time, we're looking at Captain America's family...or, what he left behind. I'm sorry for the gap in story between this and the show, but like I've said before, I'm working on a mini series that clears things up. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and please, I don't want to sound as if I'm begging, but please review. If you don't review and tell me what you think, how am I supposed to know if you like it, and if I should continue? Just consider it when you get to the bottom, please and thank you!

 **Disclaimer** **:** Again with this...we all know that I own nothing of Marvel. All I own is a pair of flip-flops and the original characters/storylines.

Chapter 3: A Hero's Welcome

* * *

The Captain sees light begin to surround him, but an unbearable heat comes with it. No, it's not light. It's fire. The ground below his feet is being consumed as he tries to outrun his unseen enemy. The darkness of the night sky is now splattered with orange and sounds of gunfire reach to the farthest edges of the blazing field he runs through. The Captain hears his fellow soldiers yell to each other. The stomp of their combat boots vibrates behind him as they catch up with their Commanding Officer.

"Come on!" he screams over the crackling flames. He motions the automatic rifle he holds overhead, telling his battalion to keep up. The Captain hears his friend, Lieutenant Reed, call after him.

"Captain, I can't find Private Gains!" says the Lieutenant.

"Keep moving!" the Captain tells him, and whoever else made it out of the base in time. "There's a safe spot at the end of the field." He has to get the remainder of his men out. They're all that matters now. More bullets can be heard behind them as the flames grow hotter beside them. They're trapped between guns and a hot place.

Then, just over the horizon, the sunrise attempts to climb back into the sky to light the soldiers' way. But it's too late. The next spray of ammunition is close enough to hit a few of the men, and they drop to the burning ground. The enemies scream in another language at them before opening fire again. This time, the Captain feels a pain shoot up his leg and into his spine. The soldier can feel himself gravitating towards the ground, and the next thing he knows, he's on fire.

An all-consuming blaze engulfs his clothes, and his skin starts to sear. His eyes glance down at his hands to find them stained with crimson blood. But he can't move. He can't roll the fire away because it's all around him. It would be futile to even attempt. So, the Captain lays in the flaming grass in agony, allowing the heat to cover him completely. There's no point in fighting it.

This is where he dies.

The flames take the Captain under, and the roaring fire drowns out the sound of his men begging for mercy, screaming for the pain to stop. He closes his eyes and welcomes the end. The soldier's thoughts retreat into the darkest corners of his mind to hide from his horrible failure. _I should've been more prepared for attacks_ , he thinks. _I should've been more alert. I'm not the hero everyone assumes I am because my last name is Rogers_. _Every single soldier under my authority is either in the hands of the enemy, bleeding out or burned to death._

He deserves to die here.

Yet in the midst of his painful ending, he can hear a sweet and soothing voice call his name from beyond the overwhelming flames. "Wake up, Captain," a woman says. Her tone captivates him, but why does need to wake up? Wake up to what? His world is set ablaze, he's dying. What could there possibly be for him to wake up to?

She beckons him once more, "James, wake up."

The voice persists until the Captain gathers all the strength he has left and wakes up.

 **Brooklyn, New York. Monday, September 8th, 2042. 05:23 pm.**

Captain James Rogers searches for air to overcome the shock of finding himself on a couch. He's not actually running through a burning plateau in Tibet with his men dying around him—but in his family's Brooklyn home. Nowhere near China or the unforgiving battlefield. The soldier's battalion isn't dying, or on fire—most of them are preparing to leave their International Guard outpost near the city of Nakchu. The dream was simply his fear of leaving his men twisted into a nightmare.

He sits up and grasps the edge of the couch to tether himself. He didn't leave them. The young Guard Captain vaguely remembers telling them all goodbye as he and other soldiers from the United States hopped in a Jeep and drove to the airport. All of them leaving the broken but healing nation of China behind.

James wipes away the sweat that has collected on his forehead. He runs a hand through his short, blonde hair and blinks away the mist clouding his vision. He takes in the living room around him that he hasn't seen in four years. His mom has painted the walls and moved things around a bit, but none too drastic a change.

The old, navy cloth couch James sat on as a kid has been replaced by a new, red leather one. _Not as comfortable as the old one,_ he thinks, rubbing at the ache in his back. The once cream colored walls have been painted a cloud gray, with several familiar paintings scattered around the room. The blonde stands, stretching his stiff arms and legs. Sitting down for roughly 20 hours of flight time from the other side of the world is sure to make one's bones weary.

Stepping lightly across the chilled hardwood floor, the young man's deep blueberry eyes drift towards the red painted front door, and the coat rack beside it. A lone trench coat is draped on one of the many hooks, and he remembers that it's there for a reason. That reason being for his mother's peace of mind. In the right outside pocket sits a fully loaded Glock pistol.

You know, just in case.

James rolls his eyes and makes his way towards the kitchen. He glides up to the doorway where he finds his mother sipping on a mug of steaming something. She holds up the daily newspaper and doesn't seem to notice her son yet. James feels a smile tug at the sight of her. Of all the changes she's made to their home, she wasn't one of them. Her long, ruby red hair still sweeps across her forehead and stands out against her pale skin. Her bright green eyes skim intently over the newspaper, narrowing every so often, seemingly lost in her reading material. James steps forward and lands on a squeaky board. Simultaneously, his mother's eyes dart towards him.

"I was wondering when you were going to stop standing there and come in," she says.

"You knew I was there?" he says. "Of course you knew I was there, you're the Black Widow." James approaches the little kitchen table and takes a seat next to Natasha. "How come I didn't inherit your sneaky gene?" James asks.

Natasha chuckles at her son, setting her paper on the table. "First of all, I _was_ the Black Widow—past tense. And second, it's because you have too much of your father in you. Steve Rogers stuck out like a star-spangled billboard."

James smirks to suppress an oncoming chuckle. "Touché."

"Welcome home," Natasha says, her tone softening as she holds her youngest son's hand. He nods and squeezes her hand to reassure her that he's really home. "How was your nap?"

"It was okay. But I don't even remember getting home…or going to sleep," he answers.

"Well," she starts. "Let's run through the events of the morning, shall we? First, you called me from Seattle, told me you were on your way home."

"Did you faint?" James asks with a raised brow. He knows his mother isn't one to show her emotions—even to her kids—but he thought that maybe after rarely hearing from him for four years, she might show the slightest bit of emotion.

Natasha rolls her eyes. "I don't faint. But, I _may_ have teared up a little." This causes James to grin. "And I had a right to, former S.H.I.E.L.D. or not, I'm a mother and I was happy to hear from you after…how many months since the last time we talked?"

James thinks for a moment. "About six months. I'm sorry we couldn't talk more, but none of us really had the time or resources to contact family in the field."

"I know," she sighs. "I'm just glad your home now. Safe and sound."

"Yeah. Safe and sound…" James feels Natasha's stare on him as a distant memory leads his dark blue eyes away from their conversation. Away and back to China…back to Zhai Lu. The sound of his mother's voice drags him from the thought grabbing at his attention.

"After you called I drove to the airport and waited for you. When your plane landed and we drove home, you hit the couch," she tells him. "You were out like a light. I took your bag to your room by the way."

"Thank you."

"So, I imagine S.H.I.E.L.D. will need you for debriefing soon, right? I know the standard procedure is one day's rest, then you're under review," Nat says, taking another sip from her black mug.

James leans back in his chair. "Colonel Phillips told me before I left that debriefing would start Wednesday. I'm expected on the Helicarrier that morning. I'm sure the Director will want to interrogate me and make me see a psychologist," James comments, his lips pursed and his body stiffening.

"You know it's regulation. Besides, I've known the resident psychologist since she was a little girl, you'll be in Doctor Lang's capable hands," Natasha assures with a wink. James relaxes his body, hoping he can trust his mother's word. "Now, you hungry?"

"You have no idea," James replies, stretching back and yawning.

Natasha begins to rise from her chair when James stops her. "Hang on, you're not cooking tonight," he says.

Natasha raises her brows. "And why not?"

"Because," he begins to smile. "I am. I learned a thing or two about food in a China, and I'd like to try it out on you."

Natasha settles back into her chair with her arms crossed. "Well please, cook away." She holds out her hands, gesturing that the kitchen is all his. The last thing she expected her son to do when he came home was to cook her dinner.

Now fully rested and ready to eat, James rummages through the black fridge and gray cabinets in search of the ingredients to the recipe swirling around in his head.

When the 19-year-old Rogers boy was recruited for the International Guard by S.H.I.E.L.D., he had to learn and adapt quickly to the situation he was thrown into. Things could change in an instant, and he'd be met with a whole new set of circumstances. Luckily for him, he was taught by many good men how to do the few things his parents didn't teach him. One of those cooking a decent meal.

The now 22-year-old glides around the kitchen, on a mission to cook dinner. But the weight of his mother's watchful eyes fall on his shoulders. No doubt attempting to notice if her baby boy has changed. _You have no idea,_ James thinks. He carefully picks up utensils and other items as opposed to blindly grabbing as he would have before he left. His eyes constantly shift to the sides, catching on everything there and not there. His squared features hold a firm yet weary expression as he peers out the small window above the sink. James knows Natasha has seen firsthand what war can do to a someone—the constant paranoia that plagues your every waking moment, the feeling that you'll never be able to un-see the violence that you've taken part in. The guilt for the lives you took in the name of peace. James knows that if anyone will understand what he's been through, it's her. But for now, James plans on keeping his war to himself.

Several minutes tick by and James has a mix of vegetables thrown into a skillet. Soon he starts opening and looking through cabinets until he gets to the overhead cabinet at the end. He reaches for the top shelf and pulls down a tall, half empty green bottle with a pale liquid inside.

"Hey, how'd you know that was up there?" Natasha asks, nodding at white wine James just pulled from the cabinet.

"I've always known, mom," he chuckles. "It's not Yellow wine like Mrs. Yawen Fey showed me how to use, but it'll do."

"Mrs. Yawen Fey?"

"My battalion passed through a small town in the Yunnan Province near the Tibetan/Nepal border. We were pretty much exhausted, so we stopped to set up camp for a couple of days outside the town. This place was so tiny, you could barely call it a town, but for some reason, it had a restaurant," James says. He pulls the cork out of the wine bottle and pours a little onto the veggies searing in the pan, causing a small flame to erupt. But the flame quickly disappears, signifying that the alcohol has burnt off.

"The guys decided to check it out since we hadn't eaten real food since we left the base. So, we checked it out. Sergeant Lin, our translator, explained to us after he spoke to the cook that it wasn't really a restaurant, but more of a soup kitchen."

"Oh?" Natasha curiously watches as James shakes the frying pan and flips the veggies, then pours in some soy sauce she didn't even know she had. James turns to the fridge and pulls out a package of chicken breast.

"Are you using this?"

"I was planning on it, but please, go ahead. Now, what about this soup kitchen?"

"Oh, right." James begins slicing up the chicken and continues with his story. "Well when we found out that this lady was cooking meals for all three hundred residents of the town every day, we had to know more. Turns out the lady's real name was Yawen Yin-Dae, she apparently was famous in China as an actress when she was young. She ended up so rich and unhappy, that she sold everything, and started traveling her country. She came across the town and realized how it was struggling. So, she started the kitchen. It was crazy, she said she had so much money she didn't know what to do with it, so she uses it to fund her 'restaurant.'"

"That's a little hard to believe," Natasha says, her skepticism showing through a raised eyebrow.

"Trust me, it's true," James insists. "But anyway, when Mrs. Yawen realized who we were, she took me back to the kitchen and showed me how to cook several of her favorite dishes. In case I needed to feed my crew on my own, or we just got tired of gnawing on MRE's."

Natasha laughs. Having eaten a few of those nasty freeze dried meals in her life, James knows she can understand the situation the soldiers were in. "Okay, okay, let me see if I'm getting this right...a rich, former Chinese actress who now runs a soup kitchen taught you how to cook whatever it is your cooking now?" She peers towards the sizzling frying pan as he throws in some thinly sliced strips of chicken.

"Oh, this? It's stir fry."

"James, we could've gotten stir fry from ordering take out."

"But this is Yawen Fey's stir fry!" James says proudly, gesturing his hands towards the pan. Next, he pours in some brown rice from a box and adds a spritz of white vinegar. "Also, do you have some fresh ginger?"

"Check the herb cabinet, I think I picked up a few roots yesterday." Natasha points to the overhead cabinet to James' immediate left. The blonde finds what he's looking for, a misshapen soft brown root and sets it down on the counter. Stirring the veggies and chicken, he makes a pass over the pan with some salt and pepper, then pulls at the drawer beside him. Knowing his mom's organization, he doubts anything has moved around in the last four years. And there it is, the grater he needs laying on its side like always. With a thin kitchen blade in hand, he begins peeling a small branch of the root, then shreds some of the tips over the frying pan. The sizzling ingredients all combined create a breathtaking aroma that drifts into James' lungs, taking him back to the moment he first smelled it.

"I hope that's almost done because that scent is driving me crazy," she comments.

"It is. Will you get some plates out?" James asks, looking over his shoulder at his mom. Natasha stands and takes two plates off of the open shelf on the wall by the fridge, along with two paper napkins and a set of water bottles from the inside the fridge door. James finishes up with the stir fry while Natasha set the table for two, just like she used to every night after his older brother, Gabriel, joined S.H.I.E.L.D.

After four years, the Captain had almost forgotten what it was like to eat a meal with his mom sitting across from him. "And," James starts scooping stir fry from the pan and drops it onto the two plates he has balanced on his arm. "Dinner is served."

A few bites in and neither has spoken a word to the other. Simply being home is enough for James at the moment. While he munches on some peppers and chicken, a swell of questions flood his thoughts. He sorts through them one by one, ranking each by priority and relevance. But as he decides on the question he wants to ask first, he crunches down on a piece of broccoli that was quite finished cooking. The sound resonates in his ears, mimicking the same crunch he made stepping on a twig while his men were passing through a forest.

Once sitting with his mother eating dinner, James is now back in China. The memory of skulking through that forest grips him and tries to remove him from his home in Brooklyn. But his mother calls him back to dinner.

"James?"

The young man's attention makes its way back and he finds himself staring across the table at his mother, a concerned look riddling her bright green eyes.

"Where'd you go?" she asks, taking a drink of water from her bottle.

James blinks hard. _Chu Wei forest,_ he thinks. "Nowhere special," he says, taking another bite. "I've got a lot of questions."

"I'm sure," she nods, biting another fork full. "Ask away."

"Well, firstly," he swallows. "I like the new paint, but I'd like to know where you got the couch. That…thing is the least comfortable thing I've ever slept on, and I've slept on the ground most of the past four years." Natasha laughs.

"Well it's not for sleeping on, but you just looked so tired when we got home," Natasha says, pointing her fork at him. "I wasn't about to make you walk all the way to the back of the house and sleep on a bare mattress in your room."

"Don't tell me you took my room apart," James wonders, taking a drink.

"No, just stripped the bed and covered it. And besides, that old blue thing you call a couch is out in the garage, in case you want to sleep on it instead of my extremely uncomfortable red one," Nat suggests, smirking.

James rolls his eyes. "No need to be sarcastic, mom. I'll just make my bed."

"That's fine," she says.

"So," he pauses, picking the next question on the mental list. "How are Kassidy and Antonio?"

Natasha smiles at the mention of James' best friends. "Kassidy comes to see me just about every week, and I assume Antonio is doing well, she doesn't mention him much," she says, her brow furrowed in thought.

"Is he still in college? I know he was prepping when I left," he asks.

"Actually, he's been home since April. But from what Kassy tells me, he's been busy working for his Dad, and she's been busy teaching at the Rec center in Midtown," Nat explains.

"Huh." James considers this before proceeding with the next question. The thought of his friends brings a feeling James wasn't expecting. He thought he would feel excited to see them, but instead a nervous—embarrassed even—feeling crawls up his throat. Why should he feel nervous about seeing his two best friends in this world? _Because they may not recognize me,_ he tells himself.

The next hour passes by as the mother and son talk and joke somewhat about things. Dinner quickly disappears, and soon the dishes are in the sink and Natasha and James are sitting in the living room. Nat sits on her "uncomfortable" couch, while James gets comfy in the chair beside her, sharing the cushion with his propped up foot. Stories and questions get passed around, mostly James asking about what's changed in the four years he's been gone, and Natasha answering him with slightly embellished stories.

His friends come up in conversation as Natasha recalls her visits with Kassidy. Apparently her "Niece," as she calls Kassidy, came over a lot, with Bobbie visiting occasionally. Eventually, James has to ask if his Dad's motorcycle—a gift from his mom when he turned 17—has been kept up. His mother tells him that Gomez from the shop down the street has taken care of it and that it's in the garage waiting for him. But once James has been caught up, and all joking and stories have been put aside, an unanswered question weighs on his mind. The question started out as top on the list but was pushed down to the bottom the as soon it came time to ask it. Even now, he can't bring himself to ask it yet.

"I see you kept Dad's paintings up after the improving," James mentions. He rises from his chair and walks across the room, his eyes meeting a beautiful abstract piece in a rainbow of colors. Steve started painting not long after he and Natasha were married, and never stopped afterward. At least five hang in the living room and James vaguely remembers seeing some down the hallway when he came in the front door earlier.

"I wasn't about to put him…them in storage. They belong in here, where everyone who passes through can see them." Natasha joins him in admiring Steve's handiwork.

But the bottom of the list question won't seem to go away. The pestering thought forces him to finally ask. "Have you heard from Gabe lately?"

The question hangs in the air a moment. His mother stands silent, her eyes lost in the strokes of color on the canvas, her lips pursed in apparent contemplation. "He called a few days ago to tell me about the peace treaty between East and West China. Told me to expect a call from you. He said you'd be released to come home."

"What about him? Will he be visiting home anytime soon?" James' tone suddenly takes a cynical turn.

"Gabe was still on a mission when we talked, but he said he'd be back in New York City within the next few days for debriefing before they send him back out. He said he would come by to see how you're doing. Who knows, you may even pass him on the Helicarrier Wednesday."

He turns his eyes back to the painting, his thoughts turning angry. "Yeah, who knows?"

 **Rogers' House, Brooklyn. 10:37 p.m.**

James finishes pulling the sheet on his bed military tight and huffs proudly at his freshly made bed. _Looks like one of those "Better Homes & Gardens" beds,_ he thinks. But as inviting as the cushioned mattress looks compared the plank-like cots he slept on in China—that is, when he had the pleasure of sleeping on one—he can't bring himself to lay on it. The bed is too soft. As tired and as stiff as he feels, he ends up on the floor.

With a plush brown blanket scarcely covering his toes and one well-used pillow just barely keeping his head off the floor, the young soldier tosses and turns beside his bed. The carpeted room he grew up in hasn't changed much since he left it, save for the glowing action figures that once sat on his bookshelf in the corner. He boxed those up when he was seventeen because they were bothering him at night. But as sleep escapes him now, he wishes the soft green from the highlights on the figures were lighting up the darkness around him. Because now, the darkness has new meaning to it, and he's pretty sure he heard a bump.

He allows for a few more minutes before he gives up trying to fall asleep. And when that time passes, he sits up. As much as he wishes it was the floor causing his insomnia, he knows it's more than likely that his body is used to times zones on the other side of the world. And combined with jet lag and his uneasy mind, he's convinced he won't be sleeping tonight. So, he quietly gets up, grabs a hoodie to pull over his workout shirt, and steps out of his room. He tiptoes down the hallway and out the side door in the living room, opening the door to reveal his Dad's army green painted motorcycle parked next to his mom's black Mustang. He rolls up the garage door and allows some fresh air to clear away the musty scent while he gets to work.

James stays up long past the midnight hours tinkering with his Dad's motorcycle. Natasha insisted that Gomez the mechanic took care of it, and James believes her, but instead of tossing and turning in on the floor till dawn, he wants something to keep busy with.

Clothed in his long pajama bottoms, an old S.H.I.E.L.D. hoodie that barely fits, and a metric wrench in hand, he begins checking over every inch of the WLA Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Considering the two-wheeled vehicle is over one hundred years old, it looks as if it's brand new. James shakes his head in disappointment. Sure, he's happy Gomez took such great care of his father's bike but did he have to leave her in perfect shape? The blonde wanted at least one thing to fix on his baby. He continues to scan the old bike with his deep blues but finds nothing.

"Wait a second," he says. He leans in closer to the gas tank and realizes there's a chip in the paint. _I knew it_ , he thinks. "And the spokes on back wheel are bent."

The young Rogers begins to detach the back wheel from the frame, propping the bike up on cement blocks. "This may take a while," he starts, patting his motorcycle. "But I'll get you looking perfect."

"Still talking to that old hunk of steel, huh?" sounds a voice behind James. James reacts quickly, moving into a defensive position and ready to use his wrench as a weapon. If there's one thing the military taught him, it's to be ready for anything. But no amount of training could prepare him for the visitor standing in the driveway.

"Gabe?" James barely whispers. Tall and muscular with a chin like his father and a sly smile like his mother, Gabriel Rogers stands before him in the flesh. His red hair has gotten long and wild since James saw him last, but his beaming blue-green eyes haven't changed a bit. He nonchalantly waits under the garage door with his hands tucked away in the pockets of his black, leather jacket. James hasn't decided yet if he feels like hugging him or breaking his nose.

"Hey there, little brother," Gabe says. The two stand and stare at each other for a moment. Finally, James hard expression breaks into a smile and he sets his wrench on a work table, embracing his brother. The two stay like this for a moment, simply enjoying each other's presence. But James pulls back as he recalls something his mother mentioned to him earlier.

"Not that I don't love seeing my big brother after four years, but what are you doing here?"

"What? I can't come see my little brother when he comes home from war?" Gabe innocently questions. The mood suddenly changes and James stiffens, completely pulling his arms away from his brother. Their moment of brotherly reunion is over. James is no longer happy to see Gabe, but suspicious of his reasons for dropping by out of nowhere at one in the morning.

"Mom told me earlier that you were on a mission, and that you wouldn't be home for another couple of days," James says. He notices Gabe's body straighten and the tone in his voice shifts. Something is up.

"I just got the job done sooner than expected, that's all," Gabe says. "Why? Do you think I'm lying?" Gabe's guilt card has been played, and now it's James' turn to draw.

"It's kind of hard to tell, so much of what comes out of your mouth is questionable," James spits.

The redhead's jaw clenches, as he knows what's coming next. Gabe raises an eyebrow and tilts his head in an annoyed manner. "We can't just have a nice moment, can we?" he asks, shaking his head. Gabe rests his hands on his hips and braces for the verbal knock down that approaches.

James narrows his eyes, looking his darkly dressed brother up and down. "That depends on what you want."

"There it is. Because I only come around when I want something, right?" Gabe asks. "Because I always have a hidden agenda somewhere up my sleeves, isn't that right? I can't come home to check on my only sibling who's just come back from a war he shouldn't have been in—"

"Hey, S.H.I.E.L.D. chose me just like they chose you," James interjects.

"Which was a mistake. You weren't…" Gabe pauses. He can see the anger turning James' cheeks red.

"I wasn't what? Good enough? I wasn't as good the great spy Gabriel Rogers who gets all the girls and none of the consequences?" James suggests.

Gabe's expression turns serious. "You weren't ready."

All the cards have been laid out. James can feel the hurt tears brimming his blueberry eyes, possibly from the words spoken, or maybe from knowing that his big brother is right. James wasn't ready to be thrown into a battlefield at the age of 19—Captain America's son or not. But it had to be said, Gabe needs to see how he'll react.

James is silent for a moment that stretches into an eternity, his eyes downcast. When he finally meets Gabe's eyes again, the hurt has been replaced with a burning anger. "Get out," he says calmly. When Gabe doesn't react he says it again, louder. "I said, get out of my garage."

Gabe was afraid he'd react this way. "Whatever you say, little brother." The redhead turns and is about to walk back down the concrete driveway when he stops himself. He turns back to James. "Before I go, Jimbo. I just want you to know that this time, I honestly came for you."

The blonde simply turns his head away. Gabe takes his cue and walks away, leaving his already unsettled brother frazzled. As Gabe makes his way down the drive and onto the sidewalk, he hears something metal clang loudly against the concrete floor of the garage, followed by the sound of his mother's voice. The redhead sighs and continues down the sidewalk until he stops by a parked black Camaro. He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and with a click, hops inside. Once in the driver's seat, Gabe leans back and waits. He props his hand against his mouth as he thinks about how much he hates his job sometimes. The silence is suddenly broken by an alert from his dashboard, telling him he's being called.

Gabe presses a button on the steering wheel to answer. "Yeah?"

A woman's voice echoes through the sports car. "How did it go?"

"Not well," Gabe answers, his eyes drifting out the window.

"Did you get the information we needed?" she asks.

"Yeah. His paranoia is heightened, more so than usual. A violent temper which isn't normal. He's obviously upset and I suggest a full psych evaluation when he starts the debriefing process tomorrow. I also strongly suggest you wait before you even think about putting him on a mission."

The car is silent for a second before the woman answers. "Are you speaking as a neutral agent or as his brother?"

"Both! Director Johnson, he needs time to recover before you throw him into another war," Gabe shouts.

"Are you saying that he has PTSD, Agent Rogers?" Johnson asks.

"I'm saying that there's no telling what he went through in China, and I don't want you to overwhelm him." Gabe's voice cracks. "He's just a kid, Daisy."

"James is not a kid anymore, Gabriel. I know protecting your brother is a top priority for you, but S.H.I.E.L.D. needs him. And I need someone else I can trust with this."

Gabe huffs in defeat. "I know."

The man is silent as he thinks about his little brother. He goes back to all the lies he's told James to keep him out of the life Gabe has chosen to live, to keep him away from S.H.I.E.L.D. Considering who they grew up with as parents, he would've thought something like this might have happened sooner, but Gabriel and Natasha both have been able to keep James blissfully ignorant, that is, until S.H.I.E.L.D. recruited him for China. Now, Gabriel knows his brother is no longer innocent or ignorant to the world. He was taught how to fight, defend and kill in China. And Gabe is sure he did what he was taught.

No matter how much Gabe still views James as the helpless little kid he helped raise, he knows his brother has changed. Whether for the good or bad, he's not sure yet. He only knows that now, because of the four years of war and the many years prior of inner turmoil, James is ready. Ready for the challenges and anything else S.H.I.E.L.D. wants to throw at him.

"So, can I trust him?" she asks.

"Yes," Gabe answers. "You can trust him."

* * *

 **A/N:** So? Anyone's wheels starting to turn about what's happening here? Anyone got any theories? I'd love to hear them if you do! Also, HEART BREAKING FAMILY FEELS, GAH! Sorry. It was too much even for me this chapter. Anyway, leave a review and tell me whatcha think! Thanks for reading!

 **Up next:** The Ant-Man's Daughter

Hey I just posted this...and this is crazy...but since you've read it...review it maybe?


	5. Chapter 4: One Day Off

**A/N:** Hello all! PLEASE forgive me for taking so long to update, I promise the next chapter will be up sooner. By the way, happy late Christmas, New Year's and MLK day! I hope everyone's holidays have been great, and I hope this new year you'll take the opportunity to be a better you!

Now, please allow me to explain my screw up to you, readers. I am human, and an inspired one at that, so when inspiration strikes, I must shift my posting schedule. Which means that even though I spent four years creating and cultivating this story, unfortunately, I changed this a bit. So, technically, Kassidy's chapter was supposed to be chapter five, not four. And this chapter was supposed to be after James'. So...is anyone following? Again, sorry for the mix up! I will re-post Kassidy's after this one as not to confuse. Until then, please enjoy grown-up Cassandra Lang!

 **Disclaimer:** Get off my back!

Chapter 4: One Day Off

* * *

 **1103 Belleview Apartments, Lower Manhattan, New York. Tuesday, September 9th, 2042. 4:45 a.m.**

Quiet. Nothing but a peaceful stillness fills the walls of her lofty bedroom while she rests from yesterday's busy schedule. The woman lies still, comfortably burrowed down in her thick pink and gray blanket, wrapped up like a swaddled baby. But in a moment the still, quiet morning she enjoys is rudely interrupted by a loud alarm on her holophone sounding through her eardrums. The nerve killing noise jolts the woman awake, grasping at her chest to make she still has a heartbeat.

"What on earth?" she grumbles, snatching her phone from her bedside. The diamond shaped middle button blinks pink, then shifts, showing the alarm she had set for herself. Automatically, she assumes that means she needs to get dressed for work, but before she starts to get up, she glances back down at the holographic screen. As soon as her blue-gray eyes scan for the date, she huffs irritably. _I finally have a day off,_ she thinks, _and I forget to turn off my alarm. Darn S.H.I.E.L.D. messing up my mornings._

Cassandra Lang flops back onto her warm bed, readjusting the covers as she settles to sleep a little longer. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resident psychologist, daughter of the Ant-Man, Scott Lang, and always at the Director's beck and call. Never does a day go by where something doesn't come up at work. Cassandra has gotten used to waking up several hours in advance simply for the sake of preparedness. Because when your work consists of evaluating the psyches of agents all day, and your boss relies on you to keep her organized, you learn to live a flexible lifestyle.

The thought of the Director dealing with her fill-in today passes through her mind as she begins to drift off, forcing a half-hearted snicker. "Daisy would never survive without me…" Cassandra mumbles, fighting her drooping eyelids. Soon enough she's fast asleep.

Several hours, position changes, and a trip to the bathroom later, Cassandra finally gets up to greet the world. Once on her feet, she groggily shuffles across the room to her bathroom in desperate need of a hot shower to wake her up. She sheds her pajamas and steps into the narrow, glass shower stall in the corner of the bathroom. With the press of a button, steaming water begins to pour over her stiff muscles, loosening the grip that sleep still holds on her body. Hot mist rises through the stall, clearing her lungs. The longer she stands under the water, the more alert and awake she starts to feel. She even feels awake enough to wash her hair and body, which is more than she thought she could manage this morning.

A few minutes later, Cassandra reenters her bedroom, now wrapped in a towel and in search of an outfit for her day off. She meanders over to her closet, waving her hand over a panel on the wall that orders the metal doors to slide open, folding into each other. A thoughtful "Hmm," escapes her lips as she peruses her strictly organized closet. Many blazer-skirt sets hang on a pole in the middle, accompanied by a variety of colorful blouses and tanks. And as she stands there glancing over her inventory, it seems as if her work clothes are the only clothes she owns. But hope brightens her morning when she finally spots a short stack of blue jeans and sweaters shoved away on a shelf in the far corner.

"Has it really been that long since I've worn normal clothes?" she wonders aloud, not realizing just how much she's worked the past few years. She rolls her eyes and snatches some jeans and an old, yellow knit sweater from the stack.

Now dressed as casually as her closet can offer, Cassandra starts drying her long blonde hair with her bath towel. She walks back into the bathroom and pulls a blow-dryer from the wall beside her. The drier blows her hair around until the wet frizziness disappears and her hair falls back into its natural straight form. She smiles at her accomplishment and hangs the blow-dryer back on the wall, reaching into a basket under the sink for a comb. Cassandra runs the plastic comb through her blonde locks until they fall in a straight sheet down her back. She smiles at the finished product, tucking her bangs behind her ears, and begins to tidy up her bathroom counter. But as she hangs up towels and puts items away, a noise echoes through her apartment. She waits, her breath hitching in her throat as another sound follows the last.

"What…" she whispers as the click of her front door opening sounds. Her widening eyes dart towards her bedroom door and her heart begins to skip as a freak-out slowly creeps up her throat. Cassandra can feel her body start to tense up as her mind races, a slight panic consuming her thoughts.

 _Stop it!_ she thinks, smacking her forehead. _You've trained for this, or have you completely forgotten about your escapades as a teen hero?_

"That was 15 years ago. Besides, I'm a psychologist, not a field agent," she answers herself aloud, running towards the bathroom.

She starts rifling through cabinets and baskets, looking for anything to use for defense. But as she rummages around creating a mess in her perfectly organized system, she remembers the locked drawer on her vanity. _And what's locked away inside,_ she thinks. Cassandra runs back into the bedroom and snatches the key from a glass dish on her bedside table. Once she makes it back to the bathroom, she shoves the key into the drawer of the vanity that sits beside the sink and unlocks it.

Next to a tube of lipstick, some eyeshadow that she doesn't use and a pack of tissues lies a hand blaster—standard issue S.H.I.E.L.D. laser pistol of the latest model. Cassandra has never once used it, but it doesn't hurt to have one around. She flips the charge switch on the side and slowly approaches her bedroom door, turning off light switches as she goes to make it seem as though no one's home. Now standing at the door, she gently cracks it open to see the tall figure of a man walking around in the kitchen across from her. She points the end of the pistol through the crack and steadies it, trying to get a look at her intruder. But the man keeps his back to her as he moves around, making it harder to keep a steady aim on him. Cassandra decides to take her shot as the man stills, but a familiar sound stops her. Whistling.

She pushes the door open a little more, her eyes trained on the perp, listening intently to the man's tune. An old song Cassandra knows by heart because of a certain man singing it non-stop. _Is that_ _...?_

She begins to lower her pistol, and finally catches a glimpse of the intruder's face. "Kyle?"

Senator Kyle Williams of New York, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s favorite supporter from the Senate and Cassandra's three-year fiancé. "Who else would it be?" he says as she fully opens the door.

Cassandra huffs irritably and throws her pistol behind her on the bed. She stomps out of her room and over to the kitchen to chastise her future husband. "Kyle Williams," she starts, pointing a thin finger in his direction.

Kyle—tall and lean with short brown hair, dark green eyes and clothed in a gray suit for work—stands in the kitchen with a puzzled expression. "What did I do?"

"You nearly got yourself shot, that's what," she says. Kyle raises his eyebrows in surprise. "How did you get in here?"

"I used my key," he explains, holding up a copy key for her apartment.

Cassandra rolls her eyes. She'd forgotton about that. "Well, why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"I did. I texted you and told you I was bringing breakfast about twenty minutes ago. Didn't you get it?" Kyle asks, opening a brown paper bag that sits on the counter. She watches him pull out something covered in paper wrapping. Its shape resembles a croissant sandwich and Cassandra's mouth begins to water slightly.

"I think I was in the shower," she sheepishly admits.

Kyle rolls his eyes and hands her a Styrofoam cup of hot coffee. "You wanna start this over? Here, I'll go first. Good morning, Cass, how are you?"

Cassandra looks down at her coffee and smiles. "I'm better. How are you?"

"Exhausted but in a good mood," he says, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. Kyle offers his bride-to-be a breakfast sandwich as she takes a seat at the dining table across the room. The metal table for six sits in front of towering windows that stretch from one end of the outer wall to the other, giving a panoramic view over lower Manhattan. One can even make out the shape of Lady Liberty in the distance.

Cassandra's eyes drift out the windows, staring out towards the statue. A memory from her teens pops into her head, one of her and her father fighting side-by-side at the foot of the statue. She was already in trouble for sneaking out with her Stature gear, but then got in over her head when a sea creature attacked Liberty Island. Luckily for her, it was "Daddy to the rescue." She was in so much trouble with Scott and S.H.I.E.L.D., but the memory still forces a smile to pull at her lips. She misses those days.

A touch to her shoulder brings her back to her apartment. "Whatcha thinking about?" Kyle asks. He drags out a chair and sits beside her.

"Nothing." Cassandra begins to unwrap her sandwich but stops when she sees it. The English muffin is perfectly browned, the egg in the middle is fluffy looking and the sausage doesn't look drowned in pepper—it's perfect. _A little too perfect if you ask me,_ she thinks, suspicion nagging at her. "Kyle, why did you bring me breakfast?"

"What?" he asks with a mouthful of his own breakfast. "I can't bring my fiancé a sandwich without being questioned?"

"No. It's just usually when you bring food to my apartment—breakfast in particular—you always have some kind of bad news that goes with it," she says, still eyeing her food cautiously.

Kyle swallows hard and takes a swig of coffee before he looks Cassandra's way. Their eyes lock and she can tell she was right. She can see the guilt rising in his forest green eyes. "Well…I uh, I do have some bad news."

"What is it this time?" she wonders. She places her sandwich on the table and leans back in her chair, crossing her arms.

"You know how we've been trying to find a time where we can go to the courthouse and get married?" Cassandra answers with a nod. "Okay, well you know how next week I had that day off, and you were going to ask Director Johnson to give you the afternoon?"

"Your point?"

"My point is that there's a Senate conference in California next week—an environmental meeting put on by the Governor—and Senator Kelly has asked me to go in his place."

As soon as the words leave Kyle's mouth, Cassandra's heart hits the floor, shattering from disappointment. She feels tears brim in her eyes and turns her head away so he can't see her fighting them. This is the sixth time this year the two have been forced to postpone their union over unforeseen circumstances. But no matter how many times this has happened, it doesn't make it hurt any less.

"I tried to get myself out of it, but Kelly is insistent that he can't attend. And attendance is mandatory for at least one of a state's Senators," Kyle explains.

"And what is Senator Kelly so busy doing that he can't be bothered?" Cassandra shoots, her eyes still cast out the windows.

Kyle sighs heavily. "He's got his hands full with new M.R.D. projects."

Cassandra turns her head to look her fiancé in the eyes, both aware of the can of worms Kyle just opened. "You mean he's busy meddling with S.H.I.E.L.D. affairs."

"Cass, you know Mutants aren't S.H.I.E.L.D. jurisdiction," Kyle combats.

"All powered people are S.H.I.E.L.D. jurisdiction, Kyle. Or have you forgotten about the bill you helped pass to make that possible?" Cassandra retaliates. The man opens his mouth to speak, but instead, shuts his eyes as she continues. "When are you going to stand up to that psycho? I realize that Kelly has been a Senator much longer than you, but the man is a biased, anti-mutant, hate-filled individual who has no right making decisions on behalf of an entire state. Why hasn't he been impeached yet?"

"Because he has strings to pull on every time I've gone to the House. He has people to make him look like the savior of humanity, and money to pay for them. I've been in the Senate for seven years. In those seven years, I've made it my job to remain as honest as possible, but men like Kelly are untouchable because of their dishonesty. They thrive on lying, cheating and stealing. They don't represent the people, they represent their own self-interest," Kyle stops, his eyes downcast. "How am I supposed to fight that?" he shrugs.

Cassandra's angered expression softens at the heartbroken man before her, wishing there was something that could be done or said to heal his wounds. Having nothing to offer but her own empathy, she wraps her hands around his. The gesture brings his forest green eyes to meet her blue-grays, and a small smile tugs at them both.

"I'm sorry," she starts. "I know it seems impossible to be a good man in today's politics, but you are. And no matter how many corrupt men try to tear you from your values, you'll always be Kyle Williams—honest man."

Kyle's smile widens. "And you'll always be Cassandra Lang, doctor of encouragement." The two share a light-hearted laugh, their fingers still intertwined. "I'm sorry about the postponement…again. But I promise, before the year is out, you and I will be Mr. and Mrs. Williams."

"I sure hope so," Cassandra says, leaning in to kiss him. Their lips are about to touch, but their moment is interrupted by Kyle's smart watch dinging. They sigh in unison as he reads a reminder.

"I have to get to work, lots of boring paperwork and such," he says, standing from his chair. "Enjoy your day off." He kisses her head and finds the jacket he draped over the couch, headed out of her apartment.

Her blue-gray eyes follow him as he closes the door behind him. "I'll try," she whispers.

 **New York Public Library, 5th avenue and 42nd St. 10:36 a.m.**

Cassandra's day off journey leads her all the way to up Midtown. The Public Library in Bryant Park to be precise. Cassandra has never been much of a reader but learned to like it during her college days. Now, reading is a pleasurable pastime—that is, of course, when she has extra time to read for fun.

With a few Psychology tip books for work, an adventure novel and a stack of comic books, the blonde takes her time looking around before she checks out. The fun part about this library isn't just picking out books, or doing research at the computers scattered about, or even ogling over the beautiful works of art covering the ceilings. The fun part, for her, is watching the people. But then again, that's always the fun part for her. She loves watching the kids and young adults come in, some in school uniforms and completely ignore the architecture around them. Most head straight for the shelves. Adults on the other hand speed in, darting their heads about and staring when their eyes meet their surroundings. Those, of course, are usually tourists. Most of the people sitting down and reading have already been here a million times, and while they respect the beauty of the library itself, they have things to do. Cassandra both admires and dislikes that.

Her ever drifting thoughts pull her towards the checkout desk where an older man in a green and blue argyle sweater-vest greets her. "Can I help you?"

"I'd like to check these out." Cassandra drops her arm full on the counter and the man smiles, his wrinkles deepening.

"Well, I see someone has a variety of tastes," the man comments as he deconstructs her stack.

Picking up the comics one by one, he scans them for electronic checkout, partially perusing over them in the process. The psychology books cause his eyebrows to raise and Cassandra struggles to keep from laughing. The man must be at least 65 years old, but he has a refreshing childish sparkle in his dark brown eyes. When he finally nears the last book, the woman drags out her library card from her drawstring backpack and hands it over to him. He takes the card and squints at the lettering as he waves it over a scanner.

"Everything checked out and ready…" he pauses, his eyes wandering towards the holoscreen computer before him to call her by name. "Ms. Lang?"

"That's me," she smiles. Cassandra picks up the books and slides them into her backpack.

The man hands her card back to her, and she shoves it back in her wallet. "Now, the books have a two-week lend, the comics a week. Have a nice day."

"Thanks," she says. Cassandra turns on her heels and walks a few feet away from the desk before a familiar face comes walking her way. A young woman with dark hair that reaches down her back, smoky-colored eyes and skin so pale, you'd think she was a porcelain doll. The girl in question meets Cassandra's eyes and immediately grins widely.

"Hi, Doctor Lang! Funny seeing you here," says the girl.

"Hello, Agent—" she stops herself. The girl isn't an agent anymore. "Hi Lori, how are you?"

Lori Campbell, one of Cassandra's greatest success stories, also the first S.H.I.E.L.D. agent she convinced to leave the organization. "I'm doing great Doctor Lang," she says.

"Lori, you can just call me Cassandra. How are things with the boyfriend?"

"Fiancé," Lori corrects.

Cassandra raises her brows and grins. "Well, I guess that answers that question."

"Yes, we're actually headed to Oregon to see his parents in a few days. It'll be my first time meeting them. I'm just returning some books before I forget and let them become overdue," she explains, chuckling. Cassandra remembers when Lori would barely smile at work as a communications agent.

"Oh well, that's a step in the right direction."

Lori looks off with a dreamy expression. "There have been a lot of those lately. Doc—Cassandra, I still can't thank you enough for all you did for Ben and me. Without your advice and guidance, I would still be miserable sitting at a desk all day."

Cassandra laughs and thinks back to when she and Lori met months ago. As soon as the Doctor met Lori, she knew she wasn't meant for S.H.I.E.L.D. life. She didn't seem happy and against Director Johnson's better judgement, allowed Cassandra to talk her into choosing a personal life over being an agent. And apparently, it was a good decision.

"Lori, seeing you have a happy life is thanks enough. I hope you enjoy your trip and try not to be intimidated by the future in-laws," Cassandra says, patting Lori on the shoulder.

Lori smiles. "I won't."

And with that, the two go their separate ways. Cassandra finds her way out of the huge library and decides to take a leisurely stroll through Bryant Park. She has a little time before she has somewhere to be. Plus, the leaves of the trees surrounding the park have already begun their shift to autumn gold and red, and she can't miss that. So, she glides along the walkways beside the green, eyeing the tons of people scattered about. Young people taking pictures together, old couples strolling hand in hand, and old men playing chess on the stone tables provided.

The woman finds a bench in the shade, sitting in the pleasant weather of the fall season. She remembers going to parks when she was little, before she was sick. It was sort of a hobby of hers and personal mission to play at any park she found. Cassandra is sure she and Scott visited every park in the city, Battery Park being her favorite. She couldn't visit often, considering she and her father lived up in Harlem, but Scott managed to take her at least once a week. She misses those days. She misses spending time with him.

Her thoughts take a turn for the depressing, so she decides to leave. She finds her way to the street and hails a taxi, asking the driver to take her to Harlem. _Be there soon, dad,_ she thinks.

 **Harlem Memorial Hospital, Harlem. 1:17 p.m.**

Cassandra's taxi stops under the entrance awning and she steps out, paying the driver for the trip. Her blue-gray eyes scan the hospital entrance before she walks in, noticing every little chip in the beige painted concrete outer walls. The clear automatic doors slide open, a burst of cool air bombarding the woman as she walks through and into the main lobby. Across from her and to her right stretch long hallways, while a set of two elevators are to her left. Cassandra turns to the elevators, walking gently across the polished wood-colored tile floors. She pushes a button to summon a ride up, patiently awaiting an elevator to open for her. Several people from the second elevator get off beside her and she hops on.

The elevator takes her to the fourth floor of the one-building hospital. As soon as she steps off onto the floor, a familiar sterile scent hits her, and a memory takes her back to her childhood illness. She ignores the memories and walks through the Intensive Care Unit, turning down several hallways towards the long-term wing of the floor. The blonde approaches the nurse's station and writes her name on a list of other visitors. A young man in green scrubs walks up to the counter, smiling but then frowning at the sight of Cassandra.

"Hello, Doctor Lang," he greets.

"Hey there, Jerry," she says. "How's dad?"

The young man scratches his scraggily brown goatee, shaking his head as he walks behind the counter. "No different than he was last week, I'm afraid."

Cassandra sighs. _Like I haven't heard that a million times before,_ she thinks. "I brought him a new book, an adventure novel," she says, walking further down the hall.

"Sounds like something he'd enjoy," Jerry replies, glancing over the visitor clipboard.

"I thought so too." Cassandra finds her way to room _407_ , the room that's been her father's home for the past three years. A room that's been her second home since he was moved here from intensive care down the hall.

The heavy door creaks open, Scott's still body coming into view. The comatose man lies motionless, save for the rise and fall of his chest. An IV is taped to his arm and an oxygen tube wraps around his hollow face. His bedside table is adorned with pictures and books that Cassandra reads him with every visit. She just finished reading him one about a man who was accused of crimes his son committed and took the ultimate punishment for him. From a psychologist's standpoint, Cassandra thought the character didn't make great parenting points, but it was still a good read.

The woman settles into the reading chair positioned by his bed, adjusting the quilted blanket covering his legs as she walks by. She drops her backpack on the floor next to the chair and pulls out the novel she chose for this week.

"I brought you a new book." Cassandra holds up the novel as if her father is looking at the cover. "I thought I'd change up the genre since the last book we read was so serious."

She takes their previous book from the top of the stack on the bedside table, and shoves it in her bag to take back to the library. "I think you'll like this one a lot, it's an adventure novel about a future in which all people live in the water because all land on earth has disappeared under rising seas. It also has pirates, so that's cool." The monotonous beeping of Scott's heart monitor is his only response as she cracks open the book.

"Well, let's get started then."

Her eyes scan the first page, pleasantly surprised that the story isn't told in first person perspective. The beginning seems promising as she reads aloud to her father. As the introduction to the story's world begins to transition to the main storyline, Cassandra adds special voices for each character she comes across, giving the story a little life. Scott did the same for her when she was young, and it always made it fun. But then again, she was anywhere from four to seven years old and everything Scott did entertained her.

Cassandra's words come steady and focused, occasionally glancing up at her dad. She's not sure what she hopes to gain by this, but she was told by several doctors and a telepathic specialist that talking to comatose patients and interacting with them as if they're awake helps. They say the patient's consciousness is still well, it's simply a betrayal of the body. Cassandra hopes that's true.

" _And there it was, their father's trade ship,"_ she reads. _"Doreen and her brother couldn't believe the old vessel had managed to survive the storms of the Americas. But they figured that if it made it through then, it would make it through now."_

Cassandra stops reading for a moment, allowing her eyes to drift up to her father. He lies still, unmoving and pale. His sandy brown hair has started to gray at the temples and his face has sunken, even with the nutrition the hospital pumps in him every day. Cassandra feels a weight on her chest, and she reaches her hand out to grasp his, even though he can't grasp back. The woman remembers a time when the two had been in a similar situation many years ago, only the opposite. Cassandra had been stationary in the hospital for a long time, and continued with her check-ups long after she'd been cured. She had hoped she would never have to go through any of this again—she'd spent enough of her life in a hospital. But now, with her father lying there helplessly and Cassandra sitting idly by unable to offer help, she understands why Scott was always so distraught when she was young. She only wished there was a cure, a treatment, something for him like there was for her.

Cassandra continues reading but finds it increasingly difficult to do so, the heaviness inside her continuing to grow. _Today is just one of those days, I suppose,_ she thinks. She manages to push on to the end of chapter two before she can't read anymore.

"I think that's enough for this week, Dad." Cassandra sticks a metal bookmark to hold their place, then sets the closed book on the bedside table. She stands and grabs her backpack as she steps closer to Scott's bed, taking his hand tightly in hers. His chest blissfully moving up and down catches Cassandra's eyes and a weighted sigh pushes itself out of the woman's chest.

"Bye, dad. I'll see you soon," she says, placing a kiss on his forehead.

 **1103 Belleview Apartments, Lower Manhattan. 8:57 p.m.**

After being home for several hours cleaning tirelessly, Cassandra finally collapses on the couch. She props her tired feet up on the glass coffee table in front of her, just resting there to think about everything.

Seeing her father's still face, his slumbering body just unknowingly lying there—it's enough to give her chills thinking about it. She's still not sure why she goes and reads to him, it's not like he's going to wake up while she's there. It makes her feel silly, and with what little free time she has it seems like a strain to try to visit every week. But Scott was there in the hospital with her every day when she was sick. He was always by her side, no matter what. And she owed at least that to him. No matter how heartbreaking it is seeing him—a man once so full of life and love—so empty.

Sitting in the silence she allows her emotions—the ones she tries so hard to keep under control—get the better of her. Thoughts of her dad never waking up swell and drown her mind, her sorrows escaping through hot tears. Her breathing turns shaky as she pulls her knees to her chest, sinking further into the corner of the couch. She rests her head on her knees and closes her eyes, blocking out the world for a moment of pain, a moment to allow herself to hurt. Hurt for her dad, for herself, for the life he's missed out on and the bits of her life he's missed so far.

A knock on her front door forces her tears to stop. She hurriedly gets off the couch and straightens herself up. She wipes her face, tucking any loose blonde strands behind her ears. Cassandra breathes out and peeks through the peep hole on the door. The woman is both relieved and disappointed to see Kyle standing in the hall, his blazer draped over his shoulder.

She unlocks the door and lets him in. "Hey," he pauses, looking at her reddened eyes. "What happened?"

"Nothing," she quickly states, turning away from him. She feels his hand touch her back.

"Doesn't seem like nothing," he says. But Cassandra shifts her body farther from him, causing his hand to drop.

"I'm fine." She turns away with a cracking voice.

"Cass," Kyle's voice beckons. The man rests his hands on her shoulders, stepping closer to her. "Please don't shut me out," he whispers in her ear.

Cassandra can feel her composure breaking down again. She doesn't like crying in front of him, or anyone really. But it seems as though it might be unavoidable tonight. She turns her head to look him in the eyes, and the moment her blue-gray eyes meet his concerned forest greens, she breaks. Her arms wrap around his neck, likewise his wrap around her torso.

"I'm so afraid, Kyle," Cassandra mutters.

"Afraid of what, Cass?" Kyle wonders.

Her tears begin to form that familiar lump in her throat, making it a struggle to speak. "A-a-afraid he won't w-wake up," she manages.

As the words leave her mouth, she feels her fiancé's arms tighten around her. "I know, I know it's hard," he says in a soothing tone. He leads her with a gentle hand to the couch, the two sitting down close together. With an arm wrapped around her shoulder, he pulls her in close, allowing her to rest against him.

Cassandra sniffles and settles against Kyle's body. "I hate this terrible limbo we're in. I'm either waiting for him to wake up or for his body to give up. And I don't think I can take much more of the unsure weighing down my heart."

"I know. I wish there was something we could do, but there isn't. You just need to continue to stay patient. Because that's all you can do for him. Keep hoping for the best," he says. He pulls her chin up for their eyes to meet. "Never stop hoping."

Cassandra rests her head against Kyle's chest, feeling his steady breathing begin to calm her own. His arm pulls her in closer and he presses his forehead to hers', his soft hair brushing against her skin as they meet. In the closeness, their eyes lock. A small smile turns the corners of her mouth up as their noses brush, breathing each other in. She missed this, these soft moments she and Kyle share where the rest of the world and their problems seem to fade away in a warm haze. Nothing left but the sound of each other's heart beats.

Kyle's free hand finds its way to her cheek and his thumb traces her features. Cassandra gets caught up in what they haven't experienced together in a while, gliding a hand up his chest and anchoring it around the back of his neck. Finally, they begin to gravitate towards each other, and the gap between them is closing fast, but without warning, Cassandra pulls back.

"What?" Kyle whispers.

She turns her face away, feeling a strange tickle in her nose. Then, with a mighty force, she blows out a powerful sneeze. Kyle jumps back at the kitten-like sound, both looking at the other wide-eyed.

"Was that a-a sneeze?" Cassandra nods, preparing for another. The next two come right behind the other, louder and more forceful.

"Oh no," she moans. "I can't get sick!"

"Do you think you picked something up at the hospital?" Kyle asks, dragging a handkerchief from his trouser pocket.

"Hospitals are supposed to be sterile!" She blows into the white monogrammed cloth while Kyle rubs her back.

"And hospitals are also full of sick people, Cass," he chuckles. A few more sneezes and her voice turns nasally, her cheeks shifting to red. "I'm gonna get you some medicine."

Kyle hops up from the couch and jogs to the kitchen in search of the medicine cabinet. The very first cabinet on the end holds a small organizer with cold meds, vitamins, and other various over-the-counter drugs. But on grabbing a packet of night time cold medicine, he notices that Cassandra's little, yellow daily medicine container is still full.

"Cass, did you intentionally skip your vitamins this morning?" he calls. Kyle closes the cabinet door and steps over to the sink, filling a cup from the drain board with cold water.

"Oh, I knew I forgot something this morning!" she says after another sneeze. Cassandra has had to take a specific set of vitamins every day since she was young. And now she's been reminded why, the hard way unfortunately.

Kyle walks back over to the cream-colored couch and hands Cassandra the cup along with all the colorful pills and gummy vitamins. "Thanks," she sniffles.

The Senator sits down beside her, watching as she downs all the meds in the container. "I hope the cold medicine is okay to take with all those other pills."

"They're just vitamins, I'll be fine," she says, swallowing the two orange gel capsules. "Besides, can't miss work. I have a very important new patient coming in from China tomorrow and I'm not about to let the 'fill-in' Doctor Lacasey see him."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he says, pressing his hand to her forehead. "You feel warm."

Cassandra sets her cup on the coffee table, huffing and sinking back into the thick couch cushions. She drags a throw blanket off the back of the couch and covers her body with the soft fabric. "Well this is great," she grumbles. She rotates and props her feet up on the couch, getting comfortable for the night.

"Do you want me to stay? Keep an eye on you?" Kyle asks, laying his hands on her elevated knees.

"You don't have to do that. You need to stay healthy just as much—if not more than I do Senator," she points out.

The man rolls his eyes and smirks. "I'll be fine, you might not be."

"Kyle, I'm a grown woman, I've been dealing with fevers and colds on my own for a while," she says, another round of sneezes interrupting her and leaving her breathless.

"That's it, I'm staying," Kyle announces. He stands from the couch and walks across the open room to the laundry closet on the other side of the kitchen. He opens the folding doors and grabs some extra blankets and pillows from the top shelf, all of which he tosses in a lounge chair across from the couch. Then he makes his way to Cassandra's bedroom, snatching a couple of her pillows and a set of long pajamas.

"Kyle, what are you doing?" she calls. She tries to twist from her position to see what he's up to, but only sees him walking back by and heading for the spare bedroom.

"You still have some of my extra clothes in here, right?" he asks from the other room.

"In the chest of drawers." Kyle reenters the room a few minutes later wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of blue plaid sleeping pants. "Please, get comfortable," Cassandra comments.

The man walks back over to the couch and hands Cassandra her pillows and clothes from her bedroom. But the woman just gives him a funny look as he makes his bed in the chair across from her.

"What are you doing?" she chuckles. "Why can't I go lay in bed?"

"I'm taking care of you they way my mother did me before she died. Anytime I would get sick, she made me stay in the living room on the couch so that she could keep a close eye on me. And so that none of my sick germs would get in my bed," he smiles. "Oh, almost forgot." He runs back to her bedroom only to come back with a hair band. "You might need this if you start to sweat your fever off."

"I'm not even sure I have a fever," Cassandra says.

"Trust me, you do."

She tiredly rolls her eyes and relaxes her head back on the pillows under her neck. "Fine, you can take care of me, if it makes you happy."

Kyle grins widely as he snuggles down in the white lounge chair. "It does."

Cassandra shuts her eyes and smiles. Of the three years they've been engaged, not once has she allowed him to take care of her during a sickness—much less spend the night while she's sick. He practically lives here, but he avoided her place when she had the flu, several colds, and a virus—on her request. Her work is important to her, and if she didn't have such a weak immune system, she would just shake it off. But sometimes she can't, and as much as she hates missing work, she'd hate for Kyle to miss work more. His work is important to the state of New York, and S.H.I.E.L.D. for that matter, and she's tried so hard to keep that relationship going.

As she lays here on the couch drifting to sleep, Cassandra thinks about all the good Kyle has done to ease the strained relations between politicians and S.H.I.E.L.D. He's helped to make a Senate that works closely with the organization to make sure secrets aren't kept. She supposes that's what attracted her to him, his honesty and perseverance to create peace in all ways. It's one of his many endearing qualities. And she knows in her heart Scott would approve. She only hopes he can meet Kyle one day. One day soon.

* * *

 **A/N:** So? How did you like grown-up Cassandra? Confused about her appearance? Well, let's just say, she'll be important later on. Again, please excuse the chapter posting mix up. Drop me a review and tell me what you think comes next!

 **Up Next:** The curious case of Kassidy Barton.

Hey I just posted this...and this is crazy...but since you've read it...review it maybe?


	6. Chapter 5: A Day In Her Life

**A/N:** Hello again! We're back on track with the chapter order/timeline and I'm really excited for this next one. She was introduced in the first chapter, but now you'll be officially introduced to...*drum roll* Kassidy Barton! Ahhh! I'm sure your first impression of her wasn't great considering she blew Antonio off, but in this chapter you'll get a peak into the reason why. I hope you guys like this chapter and Kassidy as much as I do. Please enjoy and tell me how you guys like it so far. I know the beginning is slow going, but trust me, things will pick up soon. Big thanks to the three awesome ladies who have helped me make this chapter great! You know who you are ;)

 **Disclaimer** **:** We already know I don't own anything of Marvel's so can we just cut to the story?

Chapter 5: A Day In Her Life

* * *

 **Midtown Recreational Center, New York City. Wednesday, September 10** **th** **, 2042. 5:56 pm.**

"Keep your bows up kids, or else we'll be shooting the floor!" Kassidy calls to the line of kids by her side.

The twenty plus middle-schoolers stand side by side, each armed with junior compound bows in a kaleidoscope of colors, struggling to keep their bows steadily aimed at their targets. Kassidy holds her recurve bow on point with an arrow nocked and ready to fire, but she glances down the line and notices that the kids' arms seem to be getting tired. She blows a strand of hair that has escaped her ponytail out of her face and realizes the kids probably need to quit while they're ahead. They have been at practice since four o'clock.

"Bows down kids. We're done for today." The archery hall heaves a relieved sigh as the kids break from the line at the edge of the shooting range. Kassidy allows the string on her bow restrict to its tightened state, but, as her aquamarine eyes scan the targets at the back of the range, she notes that there are few bullseyes. Sure, she's teaching kids whose arms haven't developed muscles yet, and yes, she has a whole life of experience behind her, but she feels the need to shoot the arrow already nocked in her bow.

The golden blonde raises her left hand and draws the bowstring with her right. She easily releases the arrow and it punctures a battered target hanging from the steel rafters above. The hit swings the target back and forth, and as Kassidy thinks she could've centered the shot a little more, she feels a tap on her shoulder.

Sixth grader Tommy Marx looks up at her, pure amazement in his green-brown eyes. The boy's dark hair and freckles nominate him as the cutest kid out of Kassidy's many classes. "How the heck did you do that?" His serious tone makes Kassidy chuckle.

"Lots of practice," she winks.

Tommy rolls his eyes and walks back to the resting benches. He finishes putting his bow back in its case along with the rest of his fellow middle-schoolers and Kassidy thinks back to the days when she carried her bow in a case. Now she has no need for bow case considering how little it would stay in it.

"You guys did great today. Kat and Benjamin, I saw the two of you come pretty close to a bullseye earlier," Kassidy says to the group. Part of her teaching routine is to encourage the kids after class, even if they didn't do as well as she makes out.

Kat, a seventh grader with her ginger hair always in a braid, and Benjamin, an eighth grader with unusually built arms, high-five each other. The other kids laugh and random conversations spring up that quickly spiral out of control, turning into a hyper-active free-for-all. Kassidy calms the wild group long enough to end class. "Everyone did great today, but I know you'll do even better tomorrow. I'll see you punks later and always remember to..." Kassidy pauses, waiting for her students to respond.

"Shoot straight!" the kids yell at her. The proud teacher smiles and tells the kids goodnight, grabbing a high-five from a few before they leave. The kids heard out of the archery hall and meet their parents outside.

Now comes the fun part, cleaning up.

On a scale of one to ten, the middle schoolers are an eleven on leaving a mess behind. Crumpled paper water cups on the floor, empty sports drink bottles left on the resting benches, and the most common—silver gum wrappers. The archer imagined cleaning up after kids one day, she also imagined they'd be her own. But, in a way, she considers all of the kids she instructs hers. It's one of the weird things that happens to you when you're a teacher. Because no matter what happens or how the kids grow, they'll always have a part of you in them, a piece of your passion for something that you planted within them. That's one of the few yet so important reasons Kassidy is a teacher at a Rec center rather than an Olympic archer like her dad always said she would be.

The girl pushes the thought away and makes her way to the back of the range. Kassidy begins pulling arrows from the padded wall behind the targets, and knows that most of the arrows she's recovering are the ones the elementary-schoolers drive into the wall. She smiles and runs her hand through the holes in the foam padding as she thinks back to all the kids, teens and elderly students that have come through her class in the three years she been teaching here. The young and old, the ones ready to learn and the ones ready to give up. It's been a heck of an experience, but it's one she would never trade. Even if the pay isn't great.

Once all the student arrows are back in their quivers and the hall looks similar to the way it looked before the tornado-crew blew through, Kassidy locks up her teaching bow in its case. She straddles one of the benches for a minute, resting while she gathers her belongs and dries dampened forehead with a towel from her purple and black backpack. The girl closes her eyes and slumps, relaxing in the quiet she hasn't been granted since her day began. Unfortunately, her relaxing silence is interrupted by her phone ringing. Kassidy is tempted to let it ring, but in realizing how annoying her ringtone is, she answers.

"Hello?"

"Hey Eagle," answers a familiar voice.

"Mom!" Kassidy says, happy to hear her mother's voice. "How are you? Where are you? I haven't seen you forever! What's going on in your world?" She certainly wasn't expecting to hear from Bobbie tonight, but Kassidy has always enjoyed a pleasant surprise.

"Slow down there, kiddo! One question at a time," Bobbie chuckles. "To answer the first question, I'm fine. Second, I'm somewhere over the Midwest in a helicarrier and third, I'm working on some pretty secrety S.H.I.E.L.D. stuff."

"Well, that sounds exciting. Do you want to give me a little hint as to what it is you're working on? Or is it top-secret?" Kassidy asks sarcastically.

"Sarcasm aside, I wish I could. But Director Johnson has me working on something pretty important," she says. "But, good news is, I'll be back in New York City next week."

Kassidy starts to grin. "Really? That's great! You can come stay with me, and we can talk like we never get to do anymore."

Her mom sighs sadly over the phone. "I know birdy, but S.H.I.E.L.D. has been keeping me busy, which is a good thing I suppose. Keeps my mind off—"

"I know, mom," Kassidy cuts in. She doesn't need another reminder of why Bobbie went back to S.H.I.E.L.D. a few years ago or why she became an archery teacher.

A weighted silence consumes their conversation, but Bobbie comes to the rescue with sarcasm. "So, now that you've interrogated me, how are you doing?"

Kassidy thinks for a moment. _How am I doing? Not good, I know that much._ "You know, mom, I'm doing pretty good," she lies.

"That's good. How about Antonio?" she asks.

"I guess he's okay, I haven't seen much of him lately," Kassidy answers dryly.

Bobbie makes a thoughtful "huh," and Kassidy can tell she's considering how to move forward in the conversation. Treading lightly is a must where young Mr. Stark is concerned. "Has he been busy? Or are you two going through something?"

"No, Mom! Everything is fine. We've both been busy, neither of us have had much time for each other." Kassidy knows her answer only adds more questions to her mother's list. But luckily, her mother ought to know that if she hasn't offered up any more info voluntarily yet, she isn't going to at all.

"Okay. Well, I've got to get back to work, but I'll see you next week. I'll text you the exact dates when I can. I love you, birdy," Bobbie says. Her sincere tone brings a small smile to her daughter's face.

"I love you too, Mockingbird," Kassidy answers. And with that, Kassidy gathers her things and heads for the exit, flipping the light switch off as she goes by.

On the other side of the double doors, she locks the archery hall doors and is all set to go home and relax when she notices something in the lobby. With her bow case at her feet, Sydney Cleaves―one of Kassidy's most promising students―sits alone by the front doors. Usually, her mom picks her up after school but she must be running late. But the young girl's downcast expression warrants Kassidy's immediate attention.

The blonde walks across the sleek and clean Rec lobby to sit by Sydney, but hears a "pst," as she passes the front desk.

"Birdy," whispers David, the front desk jockey. He catches Kassidy's attention and motions towards the young girl. "Kiddo's had it rough, tread lightly."

Kassidy acknowledges and continues towards Sydney. The sandy-haired sixth-grader tilts her head up and smiles as her teacher sits down beside her small frame.

"Hi, Miss Barton," Sydney says softly.

"Hi, Sydney," Kassidy replies with a kind smile. "Waiting on mom?"

Sydney nods.

"Mind if I wait with you?"

"I don't mind," she smiles. The two sit in silence for a moment on the brown leather couch by the front doors. Kassidy contemplates what she should ask or avoid mentioning. Simply going by the young girl's sagging posture, hollow expression and wandering brown eyes that focus on anything that moves, it seems as though Sydney has a lot on her mind. Kassidy recalls Sydney waiting by the door for her mom the last few practices, but she also remembers that Sydney missed practice entirely every day last week. And yesterday, when her mother picked her up, Kassidy noticed how tired they both looked and how little they spoke to each other as they left. This, of course, wasn't any of Kassidy's business. After all, she's just a teacher for an after school program, but something about Sydney's mood reminds her of herself not too long ago.

"Sydney, I noticed you were kind of off tonight. Not as many center shots as usual," Kassidy starts, wrapping an arm around Sydney's skinny shoulders.

"Yeah, I'm kinda tired. Things have been busy lately," Sydney answers, refusing to meet Kassidy's eyes.

"Oh. Do you wanna talk about it? Sometimes talking about it helps."

At first, Sydney shakes her head, her short, sandy-brown hair shaking with her. But as the young girl becomes silent, Kassidy is unprepared for what Sydney is about to unload on her.

"Well," she starts. "It's just…it's my dad." Kassidy distinctly hears a sniffle come from the girl. "H-he, he's really sick. And the doctors don't think he's gonna make it another week," Sydney says. The twelve-year-old is barely managing to keep her tears from spilling over as she buries her face in Kassidy's shoulder. Kassidy―unable to say anything―simply embraces the rattled young girl.

"I'm so sorry, Sydney," she says, holding Sydney tight. Kassidy knows all too well what the moment feels like when you realize you're losing your father. Sydney's shudders calm a bit, but her tears continue to stream. All Kassidy can do right now is offer her shoulder to cry into and the support of someone who feels her pain.

"Sydney," Kassidy says, gently patting her back.

"Please, don't tell me it's going to be okay, because I am so tired of people telling me that," Sydney says, her muffled tone becoming angry.

"I wasn't going to."

Sydney pulls away from her, sniffling and wiping her face. "You weren't?"

Kassidy simply offers a reassuring smile. "No. I was gonna say that it's okay to not be okay. Believe it or not, I know what you're going through."

"You do?"

"Yeah," Kassidy begins. Recalling her father's death to a sixth-grader was not on her to-do list today, but it seems the situation calls for it. "My dad wasn't sick, but my mom and I lost him when I was fourteen. It's been really hard living without him, and I'm convinced I'll never get over it."

Sydney's almond-colored eyes drop as if that wasn't what she was hoping to hear.

"But you know what? Even though I'll never get over it, trust me when I say it does get better. Sure, it'll take some time, maybe a lot of time. You'll go through several different stages of emotions. Right now you probably feel kinda helpless, then you'll be angry and sad. But then, you know what happens?"

"What?"

"You start to realize that things are getting better," Kassidy pauses. "But you know what's kept me going?" Sydney shakes her head, wiping the last of her tears away. "Even though he's gone, it helps to think about the kind of person he thought you'd be when you grow up, and try to be that person. My dad knew that I was destined for great things, and here I am, teaching great things to people like you."

The smallest hint of a smile pulls at Sydney's lips.

"So ask your dad while he's still here what he thinks you'll be one day, and then tell him you'll try your best to be that person. Because nothing would make him happier than knowing that every good thing he ever knew about you became reality. Okay?"

Sydney's smile widens a bit and she nods. "Okay." Kassidy pulls her in for another hug. But as she looks up, she notices Sydney's mother standing behind them, tears welling in her eyes.

"Your mom is here," Kassidy says softly. Sydney's skinny frame hops up from the couch and her mother embraces her in a tight hug. Kassidy watches as the girl's mother mouths "thank you," to the archery teacher—the last person she expected to know how they felt. And as much as Kassidy left out of the story, it didn't seem like Sydney needed to know all the violent details about Clint's death. Either that or Kassidy just couldn't bear to bring it up again, not after she's tried so hard to heal.

The young girl grabs her bow case and walks closely with her mother out the door, stopping before she leaves to wave at her favorite teacher. Kassidy waves back, hoping that Sydney won't take as long as she did to let life go.

"Well done, my fine feathered friend," David says as he meets his co-worker by the doors. With dark, wavy hair that hangs in his eyes and a full scruffy beard—the California transplant's accent is strong and his warm attitude matches his suntan.

"You could've mentioned something about her dad," Kassidy chastises. The blonde heads across the lobby to behind the front desk, finding her time card and scanning it on the holographic clock hanging by the side entrance. Kassidy waits until the clock beeps, signaling she's been clocked out for the night.

"Hey, I did warn you. I just didn't have time to tell you the rest." David plops down in the rolling chair behind the brown-streaked marble counter, spinning the chair to follow Kassidy's movements. "But as far as short notice goes, I think you did great."

Kassidy rolls her aqua eyes at her friend and starts towards the exit. When Kassidy first took up her position at Midtown Rec after high school, David had just moved to NYC from Orange County, looking for bigger and better things. And as soon as he found out Kassidy was originally from California, they became fast friends. Of course, David doesn't know why she and her parents moved back to New York. He doesn't know that they left after the West Coast Avengers lost two members then fell apart. No, he only knows she's a Cali-Girl by birth.

"See you tomorrow, David!" Kassidy calls as she pushes one of the glass doors open.

"Don't be late!" he yells back. "And be careful out there, it's dangerous on the streets at night."

 _Yeah,_ Kassidy thinks. _But not for me._

 **First Bank of Midtown, East Midtown. 8:34 pm.**

Sometimes the Archer's daughter thinks her teaching job is taxing, but the task of teaching the untrained pales in comparison to her night time job.

Now perched atop a steel rafter, Kassidy waits in the darkness of a closed bank. Her face is hidden under the hood of a gray sports jacket, along with purple athletic pants and gray, canvas slip-on shoes for easy movement. The girl is equipped with a pair of orange tinted goggles that belonged to her mother and a thin quiver of arrows strapped to her back. The sleek, silvery-purple bow she holds was passed down to her by her father―the man known to the world as Hawkeye.

With a special tubular ended arrow nocked, she's ready to shoot any one of the four masked thugs who are currently robbing the First Bank of Midtown. A huge building with vaulted ceilings, skylights, and steel rafters, the bank is a modern-industrial looking hangout for the wealthy, where they sit and talk about how rich they are. A perfect target for four thugs looking for a large amount of money all in one place.

 _One more step,_ Kassidy thinks _, that guy takes one more step and I'm going down there_.

The four criminals aren't particularly muscular looking, or organized, but, Kassidy has to admit, they came prepared. Donning black ski masks to discourage security cameras and a dozen or more empty bags to haul their loot in hand, the four have already cleaned out half the vault. The largest of the four guys stands beside the keypad on the wall, supervising the other three. Kassidy notices a small device currently hooked up to the keypad in the leader's hand.

 _Must be a decryptor,_ she mentally notes. They seem relatively prepared to her, but if they knew to bring a decryptor and wear masks, then shouldn't they have known about the silent alarm that was triggered when they broke in through the back?

"Hurry up, Snake!" the main thug says. He smacks one of his men on the head―Snake apparently―as he passes out of the vault. The leader must expect him to pick up his pace lugging a bag full of cash across the room.

"I'm working as fast as I can, Spider!" Snake replies, flinching away from him.

 _Spider?_ Kassidy thinks. She recognizes that name from the last few bank robberies she's foiled under the cover of night. Spider has led several attempts over the past few weeks to successfully rob a bank, but each time Kassidy was there to stop him. However, in the two years that her alter ego Eagle Eye has existed as a hero, Spider's been the only enemy she's had trouble catching. Somehow, he's managed to escape while his men take the heat. But here he is again, with a new group, about to have unsuccessful bank robbery number five in his police file.

The other two thugs snicker at Snake and sling their weighted down duffle bags over their shoulders. "Someone's in trouble," one says as he leaves the vault they've almost emptied. A deathly glare shoots towards him from their leader. Kassidy rolls her eyes at the men's immaturity and decides to make her presence known. _I'm done watching "The Real Thugs of New York,"_ she thinks _._

"You four realize you've set off the silent alarm, right?" Kassidy announces. "I expected better from you, Spider." The four thugs immediately forget the money and pull out guns, pointing them in all directions as they search for the source of the mysterious voice.

"Let's hurry it up boys," Spider says. "We got us a party crasher."

"Party crasher? Certainly, you don't consider me a buzz kill when I've had so much fun getting your boys arrested," Kassidy says with a mischievous grin. She moves her hand to the side of her goggles and presses a tiny button that shifts her vision to infrared. _They have no idea what's coming._

The girl sits in silence, allowing what she said to sink in as she readies her bow to fire. She aims the trick arrow towards the wall behind the thugs. Kassidy notices an arrogant smile begins to pull at Spider lips under his mask as he starts to recognize her voice. "That you, birdy? I was beginning to think I was finally dispiriting you from coming for me after all those failed attempts."

The four continuously reposition their weapons as they wait for the heroine to make a move. The unnerving silence is broken at last by an arrow zipping past the four and sticking to the wall. The arrow's tip begins releasing a white smoke the envelops the entire room.

"Guess I'm just stubborn," Kassidy says as she jumps down from the rafter. The four lose each other in the fog, but through her goggles' altered vision, she can see them spastically looking for her. Kassidy steps quietly through the haze and comes to stand directly in front of Spider. She lurches her bow forward, hitting his face hard. His head flings back with a busted nose, and while he's disoriented, Kassidy swipes the bow under his feet, causing him to crash to the floor.

She moves to next enemy, this time nocking an arrow instead of using brute force. She releases the arrow in his direction and on contact the tip spews a dark colored foam that incases him in an instant. The foam hardens and renders him immobile. Kassidy pivots around to find the third member of Spider's gang. She locates his blurred heat signature and snatches another specialty arrow from her quiver, quickly nocking it and letting go. The arrow's tip explodes seconds before it hits the man and releases a net. The cable netting wraps around him, then sends an electric shock through his body and he buckles to the floor.

Kassidy smiles to herself. _This is too easy,_ she thinks. She starts towards the last of the four but soon realizes she's losing her cover and switches her goggles back to night vision. The fog is dissipating and she needs to move fast. But, unfortunately, she doesn't move fast enough.

Strong arms wrap around her from behind, trapping her in their tight grip. The heroine's bow falls to her side as she struggles against her capture―the fourth thug.

"I'm done with your parlor tricks, Eagle Eye," Spider says, appearing in front of her. He snatches off his ski mask to reveal a bloodied upper lip and a darkening bruise across the bridge of his nose. The intense gray-eyed stare of the built criminal only makes Kassidy want to put him in jail more. With a deep scar across his left cheek and his light blonde hair buzzed down, the man looks as if he eats nails for breakfast.

"Nice nose," she spits. The young Barton continues to squirm while the goon holding her struggles to keep his grip tight.

"Hold her still," Spider orders with a snarl. "I'm gonna enjoy this." The man pulls back his fist and readies to knock Kassidy's lights out. Her eyes begin to widen, but moments before Spider's meaty hand meets her face, she shifts her weight out of the path of Spider's fist. Instead, he decks his associate full force and the man falls over behind her, letting go of Kassidy as he hits the floor. The girl rolls past Spider and gets back on her feet, her bow now in hand. Before he can react, she has an arrow aimed at the back of his head.

"How's that for parlor tricks?" she mocks. Spider slowly raises his hands in surrender, and just for a moment, she thinks she might have won this time. But, as she starts to smile in victory, her Bluetooth earpiece she forgot was in her ear begins to ring. The annoying little jingle it plays loudly forces a chuckle from Kassidy's enemy.

"You gonna get that?" Spider asks. Kassidy reluctantly answers, keeping her eyes and arrow trained on Spider's head.

"Kinda busy right now," she says, waiting for her caller to answer.

"Kassy!" Antonio says. "Where are you? I thought you were coming to the unveiling?"

"Unveiling?" Then it hits her. Stark Solutions was unveiling a new piece of medical equipment and showing it tonight at Stark Tower…which is where she was supposed to be after work.

"You know, the one I invited you to two days ago?" Antonio pauses. "You forgot, didn't you?"

"Who's that?" Spider asks, turning to face her. "Your boyfriend?" His snicker is met with a death glare.

"No, I didn't forget, I just got…sidetracked. Look, give me 10 minutes and I can be there," Kassidy tells him quietly. Her best friend is silent and Kassidy contemplates shooting Spider while she waits.

"Party's almost over anyway, so I don't see the point in you coming." And with that, Antonio hangs up. The hooded archer sighs heavily at the state she's allowed their friendship to be in.

"Let me guess, boyfriend doesn't know what you like to do in your spare time?" Spider asks.

Kassidy's expression hardens and she releases the arrow, point blank. The tubular tip hits his forehead, then sprays a cloud of gas in Spider's face. One whiff and the burly man is unconscious before he hits the floor.

Within a few seconds, sirens sound and bright blue and red lights shine through the front doors of the bank, alerting Kassidy it's time to go.

In a rush, she climbs on one of the many desks around the room and launches herself up towards the rafter she jumped from. She grabs hold and hauls herself up to her feet, carefully walking along the steel bar. Eagle Eye takes one last look at the immobilized criminals below her and rolls her eyes. _At least Spider won't be a pain in my neck anymore,_ she thinks.

The hooded heroine climbs onto several adjoining rafters above, and pulls herself through the skylight she came in from, disappearing on the roof just as the police burst through the doors below her. Kassidy finds her way from the bank's roof to the building beside it as the sky above her brightens from the night lights of the city. A cool breeze blows in from the north as she hops from roof to roof, soaring as fast as she can until she reaches the familiar concrete top of her apartment building. She lands hard and slings her bow overhead, allowing it to rest across her chest.

Kassidy sprints to the roof access door and starts down the stairs, hopping several steps at a time. She swings herself around the flight landings, determined not to let Antonio down one more time. All the flights blend together as the rushing heroine speeds up, eventually reaching her floor. Kassidy hits the bottom of the service stairs with a thud. The stairs door opens conveniently beside her apartment—412. She quickly surveys the hall to make sure no one will see her and jams her keys into the door as quickly as possible, entering her home with a relieved sigh.

She locks the door behind her and she drops her bow and quiver in the chair by her desk in the living room. She jets into her bedroom in search of something nice to wear for the Stark gathering. Her Eagle Eye attire gets tossed onto the bed she forgot to straighten this morning because her alarm went off too late. Her room definitely shows how little she's been home as of late. Clothes are piled up in a gray cloth bucket chair that sits in the corner of the room, her purple and white flowered comforter is in a wad at the end of her bed, and everything is covered with a thin layer of dust. Not only have her relationships been suffering, but so has her apartment.

"Gotta find something," she mumbles as she rummages through her closet. Sliding hanger after hanger down the metal pole they rest on, she looks through the few dresses she owns, hoping one will be nice enough to wear.

After passing many loose blouses, a summer dress that she never wears and her standby funeral outfit, she comes to a pale blue, A-Line tank dress with a skinny silver belt just dressy enough to work. With a victorious smile, she throws it on, lets down her wavy hair and runs into the bathroom. Kassidy cleans her face, wiping away the sweat beads on her brow from rushing around and finishes up with lip gloss and shoes.

Within a few minutes, Kassidy's back out the door, looking more like a girl and less like a vigilante. She takes the elevator to the bottom floor of her seven story apartment building. The elevator lands in the front lobby which resembles that of a nice hotel with soft carpet and fancy décor. Kassidy rushes through and outside to hail a taxi. _I'll be there, Antonio,_ she thinks. _I promise._

 **Stark Tower, Midtown. 8:52 pm.**

Kassidy offers her thanks as the taxi lets her off at the main entrance, inside the gates of Stark Tower. She steps out of the car and walks in, constantly tugging at her dress. As she walks up the concrete steps of the entrance, she hopes she's not too late to support her best friend and her Uncle Tony. Once Kassidy steps into the main lobby she has to take a moment to look around at how lovely everything appears. Seems she's been away longer than she remembered. There was a time when she wouldn't have given the lobby and all its fanciness a second glance, but because it's been weeks since her last visit, everything feels so much more beautiful. The gray painted walls and white and red accents give off a very modern sense of style, something the Starks have plenty of. Several metal chandeliers hang overhead, each giving off a warm glow that reflects off the shiny black floor. The elevators at the back of the room welcome Kassidy in and she heads for one of the upper floors, hoping to find where the unveiling party is being held, that is, if she hasn't missed it entirely.

Kassidy's tired eyes glance up at the digital number above her head, the indicator changing rapidly from one floor to the next. Even though she finished patrolling early and rushed home to get changed, she has this terrible feeling that she's too late. Not just for the party, but to make things up to Antonio. She's bailed on him too many times lately and she keeps doing it because of the secret after hours job she refuses to quit. Sure, she has a real job that pays her bills but being a vigilante…it's not something she can easily walk away from. Besides, the young Barton knows for a fact that the crime rate in Manhattan has gone down exponentially since Eagle Eye has been around. How is she supposed to quit when she knows she's doing good? Real, visible good?

The _ding_ that signals the elevator stopping forces Kassidy's troubled thoughts aside and she steps into the hallway of the ninetieth floor. Immediately, she can hear faint music float down the hall. She wanders towards it and comes across one of the many huge rooms filled with tables and chairs and a drink bar to the side. There are several people standing around, but it looks like most everyone is gone. The blonde sighs, frustrated with herself and the world.

She stands in the open doorway for a minute when she notices Tony and Pepper Stark talking to a couple of people. The red-head sees Kassidy right away and smiles widely, waving and pointing to her son across the room. Simply dressed in some gray pants, a pale yellow shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a gray necktie, Antonio stands behind the mini bar washing glass punch cups.

Kassidy decides to approach him and leans against the bar. "What's a handsome guy like you doing in a joint like this?" she says with a grin.

But her charm warrants only chilled sarcasm from the Stark, and he keeps his back to her. "Best friend did me wrong."

The girl's shoulders slump a little and she tries again, this time with what she considers an apology. "Antonio, I get it. You have every right to be angry with me," Kassidy starts. "But I came."

"A little too late," Antonio mumbles as he begins to dry the glasses.

Kassidy smirks. "I know, but hey, better late than never, right?"

The black-haired Stark huffs and turns to her, punch cup and towel in hand. Kassidy waits for him to chastise her, or give her a lecture, but he just stares. Stares and dries a glass cup. Antonio's electric blues eyes search Kassidy's for something, some sign of what's going on with his best friend, but since she's refusing to offer up any information, he's left to wonder.

"You want some punch?" he finally says. Kassidy looks over at the large―and quite fancy―glass punch bowl to her left and carefully examines its pink colored contents.

"Depends. Has your dad been anywhere near it?" Kassidy's comment forces a chuckle from her friend.

"Dad doesn't do that anymore," Antonio notes. "At least, not that I know of."

"Still, I think I'll pass," Kassidy says. Antonio finishes drying the cup in his hands and sets it down on the counter with the others.

"Well, there's some leftover pizza in the Terrace fridge if you're hungry?" Antonio suggests, raising his eyebrows. The olive branch has been extended.

Kassidy smiles. "You're in luck because I'm famished."

Antonio bares a grin as he steps from behind the counter and links his arm around Kassidy's. The two head for the elevator in the hall, but not before Kassidy catches a wink and a smile from Pepper on their way out. The short ride up to the Terrace is done in silence, but Antonio doesn't release her arm from his.

As the doors slide open, Kassidy is hit with a wave of nostalgia. It's been weeks since she's set foot in the Terrace and considering how much time she used to spend here, the idea of being a guest hurts her. She slips off her silver flats and digs her toes into the soft, wheat colored carpet that ends by the desk across the room. The soft texture feels foreign to her usually shoed-in feet, but it's a pleasant sensation nonetheless.

Antonio steps over to the small kitchen to their right and starts rummaging through the refrigerator in search of the pizza he assumes is still there. "Supreme or Pepperoni?" he asks.

Kassidy sits down on the blue suede couch and flops her head back. "Both," she says, taking in the metal-work chandelier above her head.

Antonio comes of out the fridge with both cardboard pizza boxes and tosses them in the stainless-steel wall oven beside the sink. He taps a few times on the small screen on the oven and takes some plates out of the white, overhead cabinets. Kassidy simply enjoys sitting in the quiet, on a cushy couch, just relaxing for a change.

With her eyes closed and her head against the back of the couch, she allows her body to sink into the cushions. The ache in her back and feet from jumping off of rafters releases, and the throbbing in her head from dealing with loud kids all day disappears. She wishes it could always be this simple, relaxing on a couch while your worries fade away, but unfortunately, not all her worries have faded. Kassidy knows this visit will be foreign territory for both Antonio and herself because of how little they've talked or spent time together lately. Lately being the past five months. Antonio will ask questions, questions Kassidy can't or won't answer. Which in turn, will only make the tension already clouding up the room even thicker. As the blonde thinks, she can't help but be angry with herself for allowing this to happen to them. It's her own fault and she knows it, but she's not sure if it's pride or something she refuses to come to terms with that's keeping her from simply telling him the truth.

Throughout their whole friendship, Kassidy and Antonio have valued honesty between them, or so she thought. She knows that the young Stark has his secrets, but so does everyone. There are some things in life you don't tell anyone, but that doesn't justify keeping huge secrets that could potentially harm your most cherished relationships.

 _Like the secrets I'm keeping from you,_ she thinks. Many times she's justified her lying as "keeping her loved ones safe." Kassidy honestly believes that if she tells Antonio—one of her closest and most trusted friends—she's a hero, he'll get kidnapped, or tortured or some other horrible thing she's too tired to imagine at the moment. She tells herself every day that she's keeping him safe by lying, but now it seems that her lying is hurting him more than helping.

"You're being quiet, should I be worried?" Antonio says, snapping Kassidy out of her thoughts. She sits up to see him watching her from over the island that separates the kitchen from the seating area. The black-haired young man has his arms crossed over his chest and is propped against the sink counter, waiting for the pizza to finish warming.

Kassidy smirks and averts her eyes so he won't see the wheels in her head turning so ferociously. "No worries. I'm just a little exhausted, that's all." Antonio nods and turns his attention back to the oven.

Kassidy darts her aquamarine eyes back towards the kitchen, letting them rest on Antonio's thin frame. She slowly takes him in, looking over every inch of her best friend to see what's changed since they last saw each other. The addition of dark circles under his normally narrow, electric blue eyes doesn't come as a surprise, but the fact that he seems to have lost weight does. His face has never been plump, always sharp in his features, but now he seems to have an almost hollow appearance. Has he been eating? She notices the subtle variation in his upper arms from the last time she saw him. He hasn't been to the gym in a while and she wonders how he fell out of the routine when he was making a point to go. The last thing she notices are the deepening wrinkles on his forehead, frown lines.

"That's new," she mumbles, not meaning to speak.

Antonio looks up, meeting her eyes. "What?"

Kassidy shakes her head. "Nothing. Pizza ready yet?"

"Almost," he says, opening the oven to check. With potholders in each hand, he grabs the hot cardboard and places them on the island behind him. "Come and get it!"

Kassidy stands from the couch and meets him on the other side of the counter. She picks up a paper plate, loading it down with several slices of both Supreme and Pepperoni. Antonio stands back and waits for her to finish with a raised brow.

"Wow, you weren't kidding about being famished were you?"

"Nope!" she says as she crams a hunk of pizza in her mouth.

The two sit on the couch together and eat in silence, neither attempting to make conversation. Kassidy inhales two slices before Antonio even finishes his first and before he knows it, she's up going back for more. Kassidy's not sure why she's so hungry all of the sudden, she always seems to get like this when she's trying to avoid talking. Maybe stuffing food in her mouth is her way of dealing with stress. But from the look Antonio is shooting at her from across the room, she knows she can't avoid it for much longer.

"I'll never understand how your metabolism works," Antonio comments with an eye roll, "you could eat a horse and never gain a pound."

She chuckles and her eyes follow Antonio as he finishes his slice of Pepperoni. He comes to stand in front of her, propping his hands quietly on the kitchen island.

"Sorry, I really was hungry," she admits sheepishly.

"That's okay," he says, sliding one of the boxes towards her. "That's what it's there for."

She picks up her fourth piece of pizza and bites off a chunk when she notices a smirk on Antonio's face. "What?" she asks.

"Pizza's supposed to go in your mouth, not on your dress Kassy," Antonio remarks, pointing a glob of red sauce that's fallen on her dress. Kassidy looks down and grunts angrily.

"Well, that's just awesome." Kassidy snatches a paper towel and wipes at it, but the stain only seems to get bigger.

"Hang on before you ruin it," Antonio stops her. He steps over to the sink and wets the end of the kitchen towel. "You gotta wipe with the fabric." Antonio gently wipes away the red spot just below her chin, refusing to meet her eyes locked on him.

"Thanks," she whispers. His eyes drift up and immediately he hands the towel to Kassidy once he realizes what an awkward position they're in.

"You get the idea." He turns away and rinses his hands as Kassidy continues to wipe the spot.

The tension between them is painful and she wants to say something, anything that isn't small talk that won't live past right now. "Antonio," she starts, unsure of what to say next. She sets the kitchen towel down on the counter and looks at him.

He turns back to her as if he's been waiting for this conversation all night. "Yeah?"

Her words catch in her throat, but she forces them out. "I'm really sorry...for everything." Antonio stands silent, allowing her to say what's on her mind and heart. "For blowing you off, for not calling or answering your calls," she says, hoping she can keep her emotions together.

"I'm sorry for not being a good friend at all since you got back from college. It's just…things changed when you left. I changed. But now that your home I'm not sure I know how to change back, let things be how they were before."

"Kassy," he stops her with a raised hand. "It's okay. I know that my time at college was a learning experience for both of us. And I'm not expecting things to be exactly how they were. I mean, we're growing up, right? And things change when you grow up."

Kassidy turns her head away. "Yeah. But growing up is supposed to be good. Learning to do things without your best friend because we won't always be together anymore doesn't sound good to me."

"I know," Antonio continues. "But we both have jobs and lives and goals, and that doesn't mean we're not still best friends, right?"

"Of course we're still best friends, we're just not free teenagers anymore. We just…we can't spend _all_ our time together. But that's okay, isn't it?" Kassidy wonders aloud.

"Yeah. Yeah, It's totally okay," Antonio agrees. "We just…you know, have to figure out how to still do this―how to spend time together I mean."

"Yeah…" Kassidy thinks for a moment. She's been trying to balance spending time with him and work around her schedule at the Rec center and as a crime fighter for months now. Unfortunately, she hasn't come up with any successful plan yet. Kassidy's sure Antonio would know what to do and how to help her, but that would mean telling him the truth, and that's not something she's prepared to do at the time.

"Well, we could start by meeting James for dinner Saturday night," Antonio offers with a grin.

Kassidy blinks. "Wait, what? James is in China! How could he have dinner with us?"

Antonio's grin widens. "I called you yesterday to tell you, but you never answered. James and the rest of the International Guard soldiers were released home. Haven't you seen the news?"

 _I haven't been still long enough to watch the news,_ she thinks. "Not exactly…"

Antonio rolls his electric eyes. "East and West China were both presented with a peace treaty from the UN, and both agreed to the terms. The dispute is over, so he and everyone else got to go home."

Kassidy stares, mouth agape. "Why didn't you tell me?!" she yells.

"I tried to!" Kassidy wraps her arms around Antonio tightly, slightly jumping up and down.

"I can't believe he's finally home! Now we can all hang out again, and Aunt Nat won't be alone and everything will be right in the world!"

Antonio shakes his head and straightens his gray tie as they part. "I don't know about all that, but it will be good to have the three of us again."

Kassidy can barely contain her excitement just thinking about it. Kassidy and James were friends long before she and Antonio. Since birth, practically. Even though they were coasts apart, the Barton's and the Rogers' spent a lot of summers together. But on the flip side, Antonio and James had also been friends beforehand. Both grew up with James, and both came to know him as their voice of reason, their confidant, and close friend.

"He and I talked last night and we've made plans for Saturday at that Thai restaurant we all love," Antonio tells her. "You will be there, right?"

His departure from the country was a part of Kassidy's distancing from the world around her. James wasn't just the guy she grew up with, he was the friend she went to when she was afraid to talk to Antonio. James kept her secrets from many people, including their parents—against his better judgment, of course. She trusted him with everything, and in turn, he stopped her from acting on impulse about everything when she was younger.

Nothing could cause this happiness to falter, nothing except for her phone buzzing on the coffee table across the room. Antonio raises a brow and their eyes dart towards the table. Kassidy gets a sinking feeling as she knows exactly why her phone went off. The blonde walks over and picks up the holophone. A small alert appears middle screen, a readout from the police scanner she has programmed into her phone. A robbery is currently taking place about a block away from Stark Tower.

"Saturday, Kassidy. You're coming, right?" Antonio reiterates. "You're not gonna blow off James?"

Kassidy turns her head back to him. "Of course not! I wouldn't miss dinner for all the arrows in the world." The girl meets him in the kitchen and lays a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I'll be there. But I really need to go. It's getting late and I have back to back classes tomorrow."

Antonio nods. "Okay. I'll see you Saturday then." Kassidy finds her way to the elevator and offers a smile as she waves to her friend. The doors close and he waves back, sighing heavily.

In the elevator, Kassidy blows a loose strand of gold out of her face and slumps against the wall. _Here I go again, lying and rushing off. When am I gonna suck it up, and tell him?_ she thinks. _What will James think if I tell him what he's missed since he's been gone? I can't tell him…I have to. I can't shoulder this on my own much longer. I only hope that I don't forget dinner Saturday. I can't bear another disappointed phone call from Antonio._

As she mulls over the uncertainties of the next few days, at least she knows without a doubt that foiling a bank robbery will be much easier than telling her best friends the truth. Maybe soon, there'll come a day in her life when she doesn't have to lie to protect her family and friends. Maybe there'll come a day when she can be Eagle Eye and Kassidy Barton all at once, without consequence to either identity. She only knows that for now, trying to be both is killing her.

* * *

 **A/N:** Feels! Yep. So, like Kassy? No? Eh, she's cool. And later we'll see just how much like her dad she is. But not too much mind you, because two Clints would just be too much! I hope you guys can see how things are coming together. Maybe not, though. The next chapter will probably make things more clear. Anyway, the next chapter maybe be a little longer, but it won't be a probelm because TURKEY DAY! Happy Thanksgiving everybody!

 **Up Next:** The Mysterious Mr. Marvel.

Hey I just posted this...and this is crazy...but since you've read it...review it maybe?


	7. Chapter 6: Hero For Hire

**A/N:** Hellooooooo! So, I hope everyone receives this chapter well, considering I haven't really gotten a lot of feedback here. I understand, but I'd like to know how every one is liking this story, and what your thoughts are on it. Anyway, please excuse my sporadic posting schedule, I have been so preoccupied with school (trying to pass my last GED test), theatre (spring season of our folk life show plus our spring show—Footloose in case you're wondering) and everything else, I've had to neglect writing. But, thankfully with some immense help I was able to complete editing this next chapter.

Allow this chapter to introduce the next hero in our roster, Markus Danvers. The adorkable hero of alien proportions. Please read, and enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** Markus belongs to me! HE'S ALL MINE!

Chapter 6: Hero For Hire

* * *

 **Blue Ridge, Colorado. Saturday, June 17** **th** **, 2034. 6:46 pm.**

The evening sun hangs low in the sky, orange beams just barely break over the mountain tops in the distance. The stray rays hit the glass doors Carol stands in front of, her bright blue eyes watching the grassy field in her backyard sway with the soft summer breeze. But no matter how peaceful her home in the valley looks from the outside, a war rages on the inside. A war spanning over ten years.

Markus, her 18-year-old son stands across the room, dressed as if ready for a journey with a hand clenched tightly around the straps of his fully packed duffle bag. The tall, young man watches his mother's stiff body shift in his direction, a tired look hanging on her features. The teen's hardened expression stares her down as he drops his duffle by the front door. Carol's eyes follow the bag as it drops to the hardwood floor, then glances back to her son.

"What's that?" she asks, even though she knows the answer.

The end of this war has been a long time coming. The pressure from their fights over the years have finally reached its exploding point and there is nothing to stop it. Nothing she can say or do to stop Markus from leaving. Carol knows he probably would've left earlier if not for him wanting to finish school. She had hoped his hesitation meant that he was considering staying, but now, she can see that's not true. Now, there's nothing standing in his way.

"Do you really need me to answer that?" With a stern glare in his emerald green eyes, he takes a step forward. "I'm gonna give you one last chance before I walk out that door," he says, pointing behind him.

"Markus, I don't know what you want from me—" she starts.

"How about the truth?" Markus interrupts. "You know that's all I've ever wanted."

Carol shakes her head. "I've told you the truth, you know the truth."

Her words force his squared jaw to clench, his hands at his sides curls into fists. "That's how it's gonna be, huh? You still think I'm not smart enough to see when you're lying to me? Mom, please. Don't make me do this, I don't want to do this."

"Then don't! Don't leave me, Markus," Carol pleas, her breaking heart audible in her quivering voice.

For a moment, Markus' hard expression softens, his shoulders relax as his stiff posture loosens. For a moment, he sees that this is breaking them both, and he knows that if he walks out that door, their relationship will dissolve completely. But he reminds himself of why he must leave. He refuses to be lied to when he knows in his heart and mind that she's not telling him the whole truth about his father. Markus is determined to find out one way or another. Angered resolve returns to his emerald eyes, while something in Carol's breaks. She's lost him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, turning to face the front door.

Carol rushes forward to reach out and touch his shoulder, but Markus is already halfway gone. He stoops down and grasps his handles of his duffle, then rests a hand on the silver doorknob.

"Markus, please," Carol says, tears streaming down her cheeks. Markus stops turning the knob, shutting his eyes as his own tears begin to form.

"Goodbye, mom," he says. His hand twists the doorknob and he pushes the door open, stepping out of the house. He slams the door behind him, blowing air in Carol's face as she throws her fist against it. Unable to compose her emotions, she leans on the door, her crying now uncontrollable.

Through the door, Markus listens, finding it hard himself to keep it together. But a voice in the back of his minds forces him to press on, and he steps off the covered front porch. With his duffle secured on his back, the young man begins to glow a bright green, and he shoots into the sky. He flies straight for town and the bus station, leaving his mother and her lies behind.

 **Upper East Side, New York City, New York. Thursday, September 11** **th** **, 2042. 9:14 pm. 8 years later.**

"I said you're holding back, she said shut up and dance with me!" Markus Danvers sings at the top of his lungs. The diner is empty and it's almost closing time, but the tall, muscular young man continues to hum his tune as he sways his body to the song playing in his head. He doesn't care if Mario can hear him in the kitchen as he cleans up for the night, or if he's missing any spots on the tables he's wiping. All that matters is that he's in a good mood, and that he's ready for anything tonight throws at him.

Except for the keys that just hit his back. "Hey!" he whips around. Thin and lanky Mario stands behind him smirking.

"You were supposed to catch them," he says. Markus rolls his emerald eyes and pushes his jet-black hair to the side of his forehead.

"Warn me next time, Mario. Or I might just throw them back at you." Markus leans down and snatches the keys off the freshly mopped, black and white checkered floor. "I take it I'm locking up?"

"Would you?" Mario asks as he's already out the front door. They both know it's his turn to lock up, but as Markus has been reminded all day, the young Mexican-Italian has a date tonight. "Don't wanna keep the lady waiting," Mario brags with a wink.

"Whatever." Markus tries not to laugh as he shoves his wanna-be-Casanova friend out the door, assuring the teen he'll take care of everything.

"Thanks, man!" Mario says, closing the door behind him. Now he has the diner all to himself.

"She took my arm, I don't know how it happened, we took the floor and she said!" he sings loudly and slightly off key as he finishes closing up his adopted family's diner for the night. The trailer type building emits a 1950's style theme, with a chrome bar, brightly colored booth seats and a jukebox in the corner. And even though the look is way out of style, the "Better Breakfast Diner" has been successful since before Markus was here.

The twenty-six-year-old remembers how kind the owners Annetta and Carlos Estevez were when Markus showed up at the diner about eight years ago. The parents of four boys offered the freshly graduated teenager a beneficial position, no questions asked when he needed it most. Markus will never forget that level of kindness, or the second chance it brought with it.

The man finishes tidying up the restaurant for opening tomorrow morning. He mentally checks off things in his mind while he unties the strings of his dirtied, white apron. _Dishes washed, tables wiped, floors mopped, kitchen clean, bathrooms in order._ He stops at the back door by the kitchen and scans the inside. "I know there's something I'm forgetting."

Markus pulls on his leather jacket and thinks hard. If he forgets anything, he could get in trouble. But, then again, it is Mario's turn, and if Markus happens to forget something, Mario will take the blame. As much as Markus is fighting his inner nice guy, he takes a quick walkthrough and realizes the garbage needs taking out. The young man sighs and picks up the two black trash bags sitting at the entrance to the kitchen, easily lifting the fully packed bags out the door.

He locks the door on his way out and tosses the bags in the dumpster behind the building. With the keys to the diner stowed safely in his jeans pocket, Markus smiles to himself. _Finally,_ he thinks. _I've been waiting all day for this._

Markus checks the short alley behind the diner to make sure no one is around for what he's about to do. His eyes drift down to his hands as they begin to glow with a shimmering green energy. With a smirk on his face, he looks upwards and his body shoots into the air. The green no longer glows just around his hands, but now consumes his entire body as he soars through the cloudy night sky. He continues to climb in altitude until the tallest of skyscrapers are hidden under the thick blanket of water vapor.

"Woo!" Markus yells as he speeds past a flock of birds. He quickly darts through the clouds, flying too fast for any moisture to stick. He dips down below the mist to see the city he loves lit up like a Christmas tree. Thousands of people walking around, completely unaware of the green, flying man watching them from above. But Markus only grins. He likes it this way, no one realizing he's watching or even that he exists. It makes it more fun.

Markus tries to keep his jacket from flying off as he moves himself into the Manhattan area. He looks down every so often to find a couple of people pointing up towards him. The man's emerald eyes widen, and he pulls back up into the clouds, resting for a moment. He hopes he didn't draw too much attention to himself. He certainly doesn't want to be mistaken for a U.F.O.

 _I'd probably be the best looking U.F.O. they've ever seen,_ he thinks as he flies towards the Empire State Building. At the very top of the towering beacon of New York City, he lands beside the needle, hanging on tightly to the chilled metal. The view from the top is breathtaking. You can see practically all of NYC from where he's perched. His green energy begins to fad as he takes in the scenery, sighing heavily while he rests. Markus shuts his eyes for a moment, and listens to the sounds of the city scape. Horns honking, thousands of voices talking at once, music from Broadway and clubs spilling into the streets. The sounds of New York City are almost as beautiful as the view. _I wish everyone could see the city like this._ Something about watching people walk through life from above makes everything else seem so insignificant. Any problem Markus faces on the ground disappears when compared to the larger than life city he stares down at. All of the built-up energy inside him slowly melts away and he continues his nightly glide over the city.

Within a few minutes, he finds himself flying past Stark Tower, and Markus wonders if any of the Starks are there this late. Most of the floors are lit, save few a few higher up levels. But as he eyes the tall building, he's reminded of his mother, someone that seems to join his flights often. He shakes her away and continues his path.

Markus had planned on flying straight home to his Harlem apartment, but a loud noise causes a split-second decision to change course. He quietly lands on a short apartment building in a small neighborhood, close to the East Harbor. Across the street is a pawn shop, obviously closed. But its flashing "buy and sell," sign shines through the front windows. Someone must've forgotten to shut it off, but they say advertising never stops.

For a minute, he only hears the sound of the shop's black cloth awnings flapping in the breeze. And just as Markus convinces himself it was his imagination, he hears a loud clang come from the shop. He flies in closer to investigate, landing in the alley on the other side of the shop. He steps lightly when he notices the side door ajar. _Oh boy,_ he thinks. _Here we go again._ Markus, being the prepared young man he is, pulls something of out his jacket pocket—a black mask with its shape favoring a set of wings. He was hoping not to get involved with trouble tonight, but sometimes, it's unavoidable. And as the mask comes on, it's goodbye Markus Danvers, hello "hero persona that has yet to be named."

With his hands glowing and ready, he approaches the open side door. Markus cautiously peeks around into the pawn shop to find three guys clothed in black rummaging through the merchandise. One is at the counter in the corner to the right, trying to jimmy open the register with a screwdriver. Another is by a shelf full of the latest model holo-television emitters taking his pick, while the last one is to the left, busting open the door to the back office. Markus moves into the doorway and points a hand at the thug behind the counter. He shoots a burst of energy at the crook's hand, knocking the screwdriver to the floor.

"Ow!" he says, darting his head towards Markus. The guy by the holo emitters quickly looks to see what's wrong, then gulps hard when he sees Markus standing in the door.

"Hey guys, too impatient for the shop to open in the morning?" Markus says with a grin. He has both his hands aimed at the two guys, and waits for the third to come out of the office.

"What are you, some kinda mutant?" one of the guys asks. He stares cautiously at Markus' glowing hands, and the young hero notices a bead of sweat drip off the thief's face.

"You could say that." Markus pauses to think. "Well specifically, I suppose I'm not exactly a mutant, but I guess I can still be classified as one."

The two guy's eyes widen as Markus rambles on about powerful alien energy while the third thief finally bursts in. "What the heck are you guys doing—" he stops, eyeing Markus. "Who are you?"

"Your friendly neighborhood meddler," Markus says as he blasts the thief by the T.V.s, knocking him to the floor. The man behind the counter quickly whips out a gun and shoots at Markus, but the energy surrounding the hero consumes the bullets, simply adding to his power. "That wasn't smart."

Markus blasts the gun out of the man's hand, while the third thief lunges towards him from the left in an attempt to capture him. Markus evades him by stepping back, inadvertently tripping backwards in the process. He lands outside the side door, and is about to get up when he sees a shadow looming over him. He realizes the source of the shadow is beside him, wearing a set of canvas shoes.

 _Uh-oh._

Markus moves his eyes up past the shoes to find an arrow pointed at him by a tall girl in a hoodie. "Don't move," says the girl with the bow. Markus quickly lifts his hands in defense.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I'm a good guy!" he squeaks. Suddenly he his legs are being dragged back into the store. He looks back towards the shop to see the third thief at his feet, and Markus kicks him away. He springs to his feet, moving just in time for an arrow to whiz past his back.

"We're on the same side!" he yells as he shoots a beam of green energy towards the two thieves jumping at him. They fall back onto the floor while Markus turns around to find another arrow trained on him.

"Not again," he says. He closes his eyes and prepares for pain, but instead the girl adjusts her aim just slightly so the tubular tip of her arrow flies past Markus' head. The arrow hits the two thieves about to grab him from behind and explodes into a weighted net, shocking them with electricity on impact. To two fall to the floor, while the third is still unconscious by the electronics.

Markus cracks open one of his eyes, and realizes the girl with the silver bow isn't aiming at him anymore. He heaves a sigh of relief and turns around to see the thugs trapped. "Was that an electric net arrow?" he asks.

"Yeah," she answers.

Markus takes a second to geek out over how cool that is, but then slowly turns his attention back to the girl. A stupid grin pulls at his lips as his excitement level soars through the roof. "Oh, oh my gosh. You're Eagle Eye, aren't you? This is so cool! I've heard so much about you, I just can't believe you're actually here right now."

Eagle Eye—the hooded archer—cocks her head, obviously taken aback by Markus' over-enthusiastic reaction to her sudden appearance. "You know who I am?" she asks.

"Of course I know who you are!" he says loudly. "You've been giving the thugs around here some serious trouble for a while. The gangs in Harlem talk about you all the time."

"Gangs?" she questions. "They talk about me?"

"Yeah, all the time. I live in a neighborhood that has a lot of gang activity and I sometimes listen in on their meetings. They complain about you a lot, which means you must be doing a great job." Most of the girl's face is hidden in the shadow of her hood, but Markus can swear he sees her blushing.

"Wow, thanks." She takes the compliment as if she's never heard one before. She looks past Markus at the three men laid out on the floor, and pulls some rope out of her hoodie pocket. "Here, we can tie them up with this and call the cops."

Markus looks at her with amazement in his emerald eyes. "Do you always keep rope in your pocket?" he asks. He snatches the net away from the two thieves by the front door, while Eagle Eye drags the third guy and lays him beside the others. Markus helps lift them while Eagle Eye binds their bodies together, back-to-back.

"These guys are a lot heavier than they look," huffs the hero.

"No kidding," the girl answers, surprised at his strength.

The two finish and the hooded heroine finds the alarm under the checkout counter. "Cops should be here soon."

Markus nods. "We probably need to go then."

The two heroes approach the side door, but Markus stops to look back at the incapacitated thieves tied up and sitting in the window, waiting for the cops to show up. A bubble of giddiness builds in his stomach at the unexpected help he's received and joins the archer in the alley.

"You were pretty good in there," she comments. "How come we haven't crossed paths before?"

Markus knows his expression must be a mix of blushing and blank because that's what he's drawing. Words won't come as he stares at the street-vigilante he's heard so much about. Markus never thought he would meet Eagle Eye, the mysterious heroine armed only with a bow and her skills, but so far, tonight has been full of surprises. _Stop staring and just tell her who you are already, stupid!_

"Um, right. That's probably because I mostly cover the Upper East side and Harlem. Oh, plus I'm new," he says with a sheepish smile.

Eagle Eye smirks. "Well new guy, do you have a name?"

Markus blinks. "Sure. Of course, I do..."

"And it is…?"

"Uh," he says. His eyes dart around, hoping to find something that will inspire a hero name. Then finally, he looks back to the girl and smiles, thinking of the only name he would ever want to be called by. "It's Mr. Marvel."

Markus notices Eagle Eye give him a funny look. "You're not by any chance related to Ms. Marvel, are you?" she asks, a curious tone in her voice.

The young man can hear his inner nice guy screaming at him again as he decides to lie to her. "Not that I know of," he chuckles nonchalantly. "Although I do have similar powers." _More like exactly,_ he thinks.

The girl smiles and slings her bow over her shoulder. "Well, I've got a large area to cover tonight, so I suppose I'll see you around _Mr. Marvel_."

The way she said his name makes Markus grin goofily. "Yeah, sure! Definitely will see you around…" He thinks for a moment as Eagle Eye begins to walk down the alley. He can't just let her walk away. _Imagine the things she could teach you,_ he tells himself. He anxiously nibbles his thumb nail while he decides if he's going stop her or not.

"Hey, Eagle Eye, wait!" he calls after her. She turns back to him as he jogs to meet her. "I know you said you have a lot of ground to cover, but I was just wondering, I mean, if you'd be cool with it…I totally don't want to be in your way but—"

"Yeah?" she asks, prompting him to sort through his jumbled mess of words.

"Would you mind so much if I tagged along? Just for tonight, you know. Show a newbie a few pointers?" The girl bites at her bottom lip as she considers having a sidekick for the night.

He wishes he could hear what's going through her head. Did she think he was really cool and mysterious? Did she want to work with him at all, or did she think he was a hopeless newbie in need of serious social training? There is no way to tell from her silence, but as the moments turn into minutes, Markus starts to wonder if he's just being a bother.

"I don't know, Marvel. I've got a lot to do," she starts.

"Exactly! I can help you on patrol, and you can show me how you do things," he invitingly suggests.

The heroine watches his excited expression and Markus can tell she's caving as his intense emerald eyes stare at her expectantly. "Well…I guess another set of eyes wouldn't hurt." Markus gasps happily and looks as if he's about to explode into one, huge burst of green party confetti. The urge to fist-pump comes on but the girl holds up a finger to him. "But! On my terms and only for a few hours."

"Sure! I'll do whatever you ask! Your wish is my command." He grins and raises his eyebrows enticingly, making the girl snicker.

"If you can keep up, that is," she says. The girl abruptly jumps up on the fire escape attached to the building beside them and begins climbing until she reaches the roof. Markus, in awe, watches every twist and turn her body makes, seemingly with ease climbing to the top within a few seconds. She hits the roof with a roll, then looks back down at him.

"You coming?"

Markus smiles as he knows he must be falling in love and flies up to the roof. He lands next to the hooded heroine as she tells him her plan of attack. "I haven't patrolled the Upper East Side in a few nights, so let's do that."

"That's a large area to cover, trust me, I know," Markus comments.

"Then let's start at South Central Park, and go from there." They both nod in agreement. "Okay then. Race you!" she says. The girl bolts and jumps over the gap between the building they stand on and the next.

"You're on!" Markus yells. He too takes off, but in the air instead of on foot. He waves down at her as he flies overhead and she speeds up.

Markus can't think of a time when he's had so much fun on patrol. But then again, he's never patrolled with another hero before, and this new experience is one he's sure to remember. As he flies past tall buildings and follows the street to the south end of Central Park, he scans the roof tops to find that Eagle Eye is nowhere in sight. She's probably fallen behind. Markus shrugs as he sees the park up ahead.

He lands in the grass and sits in one of the several benches lining the corner. The young man combs the new wind-blown look he's acquired out of his jet hair with his fingers.

"What took you so long," Eagle Eye says behind him. Markus jumps up and whips around to see her dropping out of a tree, brushing some leaves off of her jacket as she steps towards him.

"How'd you get here so fast?" he asks.

She offers a simple answer. "I ran." Markus decides not to question her further. "There's street behind this main one, that's where we'll start."

"You think we'll see a lot of action?" Markus wonders aloud.

"Well, it's Thursday and not a holiday, so I think it's safe to say that pawn shop was the highlight of our night."

 _Our night,_ Markus muses. He's pulled from his thoughts when he realizes she has disappeared again. "Oh, come on." He picks up his body and flies towards the back street she mentioned, only to find her crouched and balanced on the ledge of a bookstore's roof like a sparrow. At this point, Markus isn't sure if he's impressed with her or terrified.

"Warn me next time you disappear, birdy," he says, landing beside her.

"Keep up next time, fly boy," she remarks. Eagle Eye slowly scans up and down the street below them, Markus' gaze following everywhere the girl's head turns. They watch and note every cat running by, every car that passes down the street, and every piece of garbage floating on the breeze.

"I live close by," Markus thinks aloud, breaking the silence.

"Okay now, let me stop you there," Eagle Eye starts. "I know you're new to this heroing thing, but there are certain things a hero doesn't share. Especially sensitive information that could possibly reveal his or her identity."

"Not even with other heroes?"

"Especially not with other heroes and cops," she tells him. The serious tone in her voice convinces him, but he wonders if the harshness in her words means she had to learn the hard way.

"Okay, then disregard what just I said," Markus says, chuckling. He glances to the girl and examines what little bit of her face isn't hidden in the shadow of her hood. The green-eyed hero notes how the sharp point of her chin curves up into her soft peach lips. The defined edges of her nose wrinkle when she smirks, and smile lines give her an approachable vibe. Whoever she is under the hood, Markus believes she must be beautiful.

The two are quiet as Eagle Eye keeps an ear and an eye out for any movement around them. A few minutes turn into thirty, and all this quiet is too much to handle. "So, what made you wanna become a hero?" Eagle Eye asks.

"Isn't that the _sensitive information_ we were just talking about?" Markus comments.

The girl by his side laughs. "Unless you tell me your full name, address and phone number, then no, I think you're safe."

The young Danvers nods and decides to tell her a short version of his story. "Well, it was sort of an accident," he starts, rubbing the back of his neck.

Eagle eye sits down on ledge, one legged propped up with her arm draped over it. She turns towards him with an interested expression. "Please, do continue."

He takes in a breath. "Well, my powers are really strong, and during my civilian day, I don't use them. I don't have a need for all that energy. But because I don't, all of that energy builds up in one big bubble in the pit of my stomach. And after a while, it starts to hurt. The less I use my powers, the more it builds. So, at some point in every day I have to release that energy by using my powers." Markus props his elbows on the ledge and waits for her to say something.

"Wow, that makes having powers a lot less enticing," she says.

"Yeah," he agrees. "So, I was out flying around one night—releasing energy—when I stumbled onto bank a robbery. Luckily, I at least had a handkerchief with me to cover my face, but as soon as my hands started glowing, those guys bolted."

Eagle Eye lets out a laugh that says she's familiar with the cowards you meet doing this job. "That sounds right. It's funny the lose their courage when a powered hero gets involved."

"So," Markus says through the laughter. "Why did you become a hero?"

Suddenly the laughter stops, and the rooftop stills to an uncomfortable silence. The girl, once relaxed now sits up straight and stiff and looking out across the street. Markus notices the extreme shift in the atmosphere. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I'm sorry, I just thought since…well, I mean," he stammers.

"No, it's okay," she says. But Markus can tell it's not. "It's just…it's best we leave that story for when I know you better."

"Does that mean we'll see each other again?" Markus smirks slyly.

"We'll see," she says, looking back out towards the street.

After about ten minutes of being perched in one place, the two move on to another block, covering half of East Side in about two hours. But as they move from building to building, look out to look out, the night seems to slow down around them. Any other day of the week, Markus would've at least seen two to three robberies by now, but as the clock strikes three a.m., the only action they've seen was the pawn shop at the edge of midtown. Markus considers asking Eagle Eye if she wants to call it a night yet, but something tells him to wait it out a little longer. His gut seems to think the night isn't over yet.

The two vigilantes stop on a low-rise apartment building across from a gas station. The old, two-pump station looks dated and well used, yet the convenient store behind it appears brand new. Most everything is quiet and dark, save for a security light shining down from the overhead cover above the gas pump.

"Well, this is about as far as my boundary goes," Eagle Eye says.

Markus nods, scanning the rest of the two-block radius. "I guess it's a good thing we haven't seen anything."

The girl shrugs. "Yeah, but doesn't it seem a little odd? I know it's just Thursday and all, but it's—"

"Too quiet?" Markus offers. "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."

Markus and the heroine take one last survey of the area before deciding to head back down town. Eagle Eye has already turned around and hopped on the building behind them. Markus' feet lift off the roof and he follows her until a noise like breaking glass stops him. He darts his head back towards the gas station and spots a figure dressed in black busting through the store entrance. _I knew it, I knew something was gonna happen,_ he thinks.

"Eagle Eye," Markus calls in a hushed voice, waving her back.

The girl vaults back onto the apartment roof and joins Markus by the ledge. "Well, looks like it's not so quiet after all."

"We need a plan," he says. He flies down to the street with Eagle Eye right behind him. The two quickly and silently run across the street and take cover behind an old junk car parked by the service station connected to the store.

"I'll take the back entrance, get the jump. You take the front, but try to keep outta sight until I've got the back covered," the girl says.

Markus nods. "Got it. Do not engage."

And with that, the heroine jets around to the back of the store, while Markus carefully approaches the glass door that leads into the store's front. The darkness of the store and parking lot gives him all the cover he needs as he crouches by the door. He peeks in at the figure inside—a tall, slender man—that has his back to Markus as he rifles through cabinets underneath what looks like a lottery ticket counter. The masked hero reaches for the door but recoils his hand when he notices that the plexiglass door has been busted through. A small hole big enough for a hand to fit through by the pull handle, obviously done to unlock the door from the inside. But everything about the break looks weird, the glass on the door is thick, too thick to punch through without getting a cut up hand but there's no blood on the glass.

 _Curious,_ Markus thinks. He moves on from the break and gently pulls the door open, slipping in the store quietly then ducking behind the snack aisle, still crouched down. The sounds of the man slamming doors and throwing things around tells Markus that he's still unaware of his presence in the store, which is a good thing. The element of surprise is always so much fun. Markus decides to get a closer look, so he scoots forward, cautiously inching up the aisle. The sound of the back door clicking tells Markus that his partner is at the back and probably has an arrow ready. But after he hears the click, the crook's movements silence. Markus stops at the end of the aisle, and panic sets in when he finds that the man is no longer behind the front counter, or anywhere for that matter.

"Uh-oh," Markus mutters. His head spasmodically darts around in search of the man, but it seems he's disappeared into thin air, that is, until Markus hears heavy breathing behind him. The hero's eyes turn back just in time to see the man swing his fist down towards him. Markus jumps backwards as the man's hand slams against the floor, an impossible force behind it cracking the concrete. His eyes widen as he scrambles to his feet, yelling for Eagle Eye out back. The girl busts through the back door, an arrow already nocked as the man lunges at Markus.

"Marvel, get out of the way!" she yells, aiming for the crook's head. She jumps up on top of the back aisle, but she's unable to get a clear shot without taking him down with the thug.

Markus tries the shake the black-clad man, but the he stays right behind him. Markus shoots a blast of green at the thug in a desperate attempt to gain some ground. It hits him square in the chest and knocks him back a few feet, but the guy rises as if it didn't affect him.

The hero's jaw drops with his shoulders. "Aw, come on!"

The thug walks towards Markus, his meaty fists clenched and ready to fight. Markus takes a step back, lifting his arms in readiness to combat the thug. His hands begin to glow as he takes a swing at the guy's face, but the man lifts his forearm to block it. In turn, the man throws a punch at Markus' gut and the painful blow sends the hero flying across the store in a green blur, hitting the front counter with a crash.

"Marvel!" Eagle Eye yells, releasing the arrow from her bow. The tubular tip of the arrow attaches to the man's back as he walks towards Markus. The tip sends 50,000 volts of electricity through the man, sending him crashing to the floor in a smoking, twitching lump of flesh. The girl sails over the man's body and slides on her knees beside Markus' limp frame, her hood flopping back as she lands.

"Marvel, Marvel are you okay?" she asks, propping him upright against the counter.

Markus grasps at his stomach, doubling over. "Anybody get the license plate of that truck," he manages. He relaxes his head against the counter, keeping his emerald eyes fixed on the man a few feet from him.

"You're okay though, nothing broken?" Eagle Eye asks, touching a hand to Markus' injury.

"Ow!" Markus flinches, pushing her hand away. He looks up at girl, surprised to see her face not covered up by the shade of her hood. _Oh no, I was right,_ he thinks. _She_ is _beautiful._

The girl's eyes look at him with concern through a pair of orange lensed goggles, her golden hair falling out of her ponytail in loose strands around her narrow face. Her cheeks are rosy from running around, and the tiny beads of sweat on her forehead give her a warm glow. Markus, unable to mention her hood has fallen back looks away, trying to refocus on the fact that his ribs are probably bruised.

"I think I'm okay, but you—you're hood," he says, keeping his eyes trained away.

"It doesn't matter," she says, throwing her bow over her chest. She rises to her foot and approaches the man on the floor.

"Hey, be careful," Markus warns.

Eagle Eye shoots Markus a look that tells him she knows what she's doing. The vigilante stoops down beside the thug and presses two fingers against his neck, checking his pulse. "He's out."

Markus sighs in relief.

"But I don't know for how long."

 _And we're back to freaked out again,_ Markus thinks.

The girl stands and walks around the man's body, scanning him and the store around them. She steps over him and walks towards the lottery bar he was rummaging through when they came in. Markus keeps his eyes on her as she investigates, raising his brows every time she makes a thoughtful "huh."

"What is it?" Markus asks, pain shooting through him as he twists to watch her.

"I don't know. But I do know that shock won't keep meat hooks over there out, so we need to get out of here," she says, walking back towards Markus.

Markus' eyes glance at the body face down on the floor, Eagle Eye's following. "What do with do with him? We can't just leave him here."

The two stare at him for a moment before Eagle Eye pulls something out of her pocket. "Don't worry, I've got it covered. I need to make a call, don't go anywhere."

Markus chuckles, then regrets it when a soreness grips his torso. _Like I can go anywhere._ "Who are you calling?"

Eagle Eye looks back at him with a smirk on her peach lips. "I know a guy."

She pushes the entrance door open, crunching on broken glass as she walks just out of earshot. Markus keeps his eyes locked on her wondering how this night turned out like this. _Pretty sure I have some internal bruising, just saw Eagle Eye's face, and this guy no bigger than me threw me across a convenient store. Not an ideal night, but it's better than a sitting at home doing nothing._

Markus' gaze falls back on the thug in front of him, still lying knocked out and face down on the floor. An eerie chill crawls up the hero's spine just looking at the man, knowing that if he'd gone toe to toe with the overpowered thug, Markus' could've gotten seriously injured. More so than he already is, anyway. Uneasy just sitting here, Markus' attempts to stand, gripping the counter to as he hoists his body off the floor.

Halfway up Eagle Eye runs back and wraps a petite arm around his back, her other arm slinging his over her shoulder. "We need to get out of here, the cops will be here any second."

"How'd you manage that?" Markus wonders.

The girl looks at him with a smile. "Like I said, I know a guy. Now come on, before sunshine over there wakes up."

The two vigilantes hobble out of the store, Markus' leaning on Eagle Eye for support. They make it across the street and hide in an alley between two buildings as police sirens sounds down the block. Eagle Eye takes the two of them well out of range of being seen, and allows Markus to stop to rest.

"Thanks for lugging me around," Markus jokes. He wraps an arm around his stomach as he props against a brick wall.

"No problem," she says, walking back down the alley to check on the crime scene. "I think we're out of sight."

"So," Markus starts. "I don't want to brag or anything, but I know I'm strong. Born like that. But that guy, that guy would've killed me if you hadn't shot him."

"I know," she answers, looking down thoughtfully.

"What are you thinking, maybe a mutant?"

"I don't think so. When I was looking over him, I got this weird smell off him."

Markus raises a brow. "How could you get past the smell of singed hair and burnt cotton?"

The girl laughs. "I've learned to sniff past those smells. No, what I smelled was some sort of chemical. Like a cleaner or something."

"A cleaner?" Markus asks, skepticism audible.

"Well not specifically, but something."

The hero nods, his eyes following Eagle Eye as she paces back and forth in front of him, her hood still hanging on her back. "Hey, what about you're hood? Did the security cameras get a shot of you?"

She shakes her head. "When I was behind the counter I noticed that the lines to the cameras had been cut. Whoever he was, he didn't want to be seen."

"So, the cameras were off, he smelled like chemicals, and has super strength. What does any of that have to do with the lottery counter at a convenient store?" Markus wonders, finally relaxed enough to straighten up his body on his own.

Eagle Eye narrows her eyes behind her goggles. "The cash register didn't look like it'd been tampered with, and there wasn't anything else missing, so…"

"So, you think he was looking for something?"

"I think that I want to get a better look at the scene," she says, pulling her hood back over her head.

"Wait," Markus wraps a hand around her arm. "You know the police have surrounded the area by now, maybe you should wait until things calm down."

At first, the girl shoots him an angry glare, but then her expression relaxes when their eyes lock. "You're right. We'll just have to come back another time." She starts walking down the alley, Markus right behind her.

" _We'll_?" Markus echoes.

Eagle Eye rests a hand on Markus' shoulder. "If this whole thing has something to do with something, we need to figure it out. And besides, we just started this together, so let's figure it out together. You want the best for this city as much as I do, right?"

"Right," he agrees.

"Right. So, let's make it happen. And we'll start with further investigating this incredibly suspicious happening."

The two stop in the alley, the girl's hand still on Markus' shoulder. The hero's emerald eyes peer past the hood and orange-tinted googles, and sees someone like him. A goodhearted person wanting to make a difference with the special abilities only they possess. _Not to mention she's amazing,_ he thinks. How could he pass up something like this? She's offering a potentially awesome team-up that could turn into a partnership, and the more he thinks about it, the more he wants it. The more he wants to do this with someone like him.

"What do you say?" her voice beckons.

Through the pain shooting up his midsection, he cracks a smile. "Let's do it."

Eagle Eye grins under her hood. "Great. Now this isn't a partnership or anything, it's just when I start something, I want to finish it. And you took a hard hit tonight, you wouldn't have done that unless you care."

"Well, I'm certainly feeling the care," he says, rubbing his stomach.

The girl shakes her head and chuckles. "Will you be okay, getting home I mean?"

"Yeah, I think so." Markus lifts himself a few inches off the ground to test the air. "I might not fly at top speed, but I'll be okay."

"Good. We should probably give the crime scene time to settle down, but I say we meet back there in few nights," she says.

Markus nods, mentally figuring how long the police might be one the scene. "What about Saturday night?"

The suggestion is met with panicked reaction from the girl standing beside him. She refuses to meet Markus' eyes as she obviously contemplates. "If Saturday isn't okay we can—"

"No," she interrupts. "Saturday night is…is fine. I'll meet you at the gas station." And with that, the girl jumps up onto a fire escape and climbs up the metal stairs until she disappears on the rooftop.

Markus scratches his head. _That was weird,_ he thinks. Shaking off the odd parting, Markus carefully flies up towards the sky. He leaves the alley below him behind as he slowly makes his way towards East Harlem, gripping his middle the whole flight home.

 **Apartment 12b, Building 4, East 119** **th** **Street, East Harlem** **.** **4:15 am.**

Markus lands on top of his apartment building, then to best of his ability, crawls down onto the fire escape stairs drilled into the brick. On the top floor, he pulls open the window he left unlocked that leads into a long hallway of doors. Once he gently slides himself through the window, he closes it back, and tip toes toward the end of the hall, hoping not to alarm Mrs. Lebowski. _Old bird has the hearing of a canine,_ he thinks. His fingers root around in his jacket pocket for his keys, silently hoping they didn't fall out on the fly home. He reaches for his royal blue painted door and finally drags out his keys. He unlocks the door as quietly as he can and shuts it behind him, locking down the ten different locks on the inside of the door.

Markus turns around, happy to see his cramped apartment for once. With the kitchen sprawled out to the right, and his tiny living room to the left, he sheds his leather jacket. He pulls off his mask and tucks it into his jacket pocket, then drapes it over his black futon's back. He walks into his bedroom and kicks off his converse. He starts to pull off his t-shirt, but winces halfway as he stretches his wound. Markus picks up a set of pajamas at the end of his bed and heads into the bathroom across the short hall, a hot shower calling his name.

Several grunts, flinches and a poorly sung Journey song later and Markus is out of the shower. With a pale green towel wrapped around his waist, he picks up a smaller towel to dry his jet hair. The steam from the hot water clouds the small mirror over the porcelain sink, but Markus' wipes a streak across the middle to see a purple spot already beginning to form right above his naval.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he says, brushing a hand over the bruise. "That's really gonna hurt tomorrow."

He finishes drying off, dresses in his sleeping clothes and cleans up in the bathroom—drawing the shower curtain, hanging up his towel, singing another classic rock song.

He continues to hum as he steps into the next room, what he considers his office. The song he hums is one of Bon Jovi's, a song Markus loves. _Wanted, dead or alive,_ the lyrics run through his thoughts as he approaches his desk in the middle of the back wall. He runs a hand on the old, wooden desk's surface, keeping his emerald eyes glued to the wall in front of him.

There isn't much to the latte painted room. A couple of book shelves butt against the corner wall, both filled with records, magazines, comic books and action figures. Some old band posters are scattered on the walls behind Markus, all classic rock bands from sixty years ago. But the point of interest in this normal room is the wall that Markus is staring at. The wall above his desk is covered in pictures, news clippings, and sticky notes, all connected by red string wrapped around thumb tacks.

Markus rests his hand on the back of his desk chair, leaning his weight on his arm. His emerald eyes carefully scan every piece of information mapped out on his wall, catching on certain pictures, but focusing on the center of the chaos—a picture. Of him as a toddler being held onto by his mother and the man she insists was his father. A tall, pale-skinned man with dark green eyes and raven black hair, with a squared chin and defined nose. The man's features resemble Markus' own—he can't deny that. But a faint memory of his father, one of two or three still fresh in his mind, tell him that's not his father.

He sighs heavily, a tired weight hanging on his chest. He started this search when he left Colorado eight years ago, but he is no closer to finding the truth now than he was then. Markus thought it would be easier to find out about a man so involved with the Avengers, and S.H.I.E.L.D., but whoever he is or was, he must not have wanted to be found. _Mom always said he was an important man, but why would he hide everything about himself? Why would he and mom make it so difficult to know the truth?_ These questions have echoed through Markus' head so many nights before, but tonight, he's too tired and too sore to entertain them further. Sleep is a requirement tonight, whether he wants it or not.

The lyrics of the song roll back into his mind. _Wanted, dead or alive._

Markus crosses his arms. "I know you're out there somewhere. And I may have met someone tonight who can help me." Markus grabs a pen and a sticky note pad from the desk. He writes out a name on the purple paper, then sticks it to the wall. The note reads _Eagle Eye, the hooded beauty._ The hero nods at the mess on his wall, but stares at the new addition.

"I will find you dad. I promise."

* * *

 **A/N:** So, thoughts on Markus? Personally, I think he's precious, but then again, that's just my biased opinion. Drop me a review with your questions, comments or concerns!

 **Up Next:** The Asgardian Princess.

Hey I just posted this...and this is crazy...but since you've read it...review it maybe?


	8. Chapter 7: Royally Miserable

**A/N:** OOOOOOMMMMGGGGGGG! PLEASE, DEAR READERS, ACCEPT MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES AND SUCH FOR TAKING SO LONG TO UPDATE. I'm positive no amount of explaining will excuse my absence, but you must understand why I've been so busy. Firstly, I graduated on the 19th of April, and two weeks before that I was cramming all the math my little brain could take. Then after two weeks, I finally received my GED in the mail, then came a CRAP-TON of paperwork for both my college and, well...everyone else. I'm still doing paperwork! But anyway, now I'm studying to take my ACT in less than a month, and then I have my summer given away to my church for VBS, youth camp and other stuff. So, yeah, I haven't had much time to even think about writing. But, here the next chapter is, despite all that! Yay!

Congratulations, you have made it to the last of the introductory chapters (Woot woot!), have a hug! After this, it's all smooth sailing! Not really, but we do finally get to move on to the tasty plot! This chapter, however, is so important and dear to me. Allow me to introduce Valda of Asgard. Spunky, spirited and special, Valda will take us to her home, and then further into the plot. I hope you—the reader—will come to love her as I do. So please, enjoy this chapter full of teen angst, and drop me a comment! I'd love to hear from at least a handful of the 1,000+ readers!

P.s. Thank you lovely ladies SilverPedals and Megan for helping me ace this chapter!

 **Disclaimer:** Valda, Jarle and other original characters are trademarks of Kelli Enterprises, but the pre-established names, places and stories are property of Marvel...does that about cover it?

Chapter 7: Royally Miserable

* * *

 **Asgard Castle, Asgard. Thursday, September 4** **th** **, 2042. Late afternoon.**

Thor stands on an overlooking balcony, his blue eyes cast out over the kingdom before him. The Prince's face—slightly aged and bearded—holds a serious expression, his gaze hardened with worry as he stares down several winter-gray clouds brewing in the distant mountains. The clouds had been there for days, slowly making their approach over the entire capitol. The mere sight of them isn't enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand. It's never cloudy in Asgard—ever. The few times he's seen storms in his thousands of years of life were when something or someone else caused them. These clouds resemble those that surged over the kingdom during the Jotun siege, bringing with them a blizzard of giant proportions.

The Asgardian Prince is torn from his worrisome thoughts by thin arms wrapping around one of his. "Thor, Jarle is ready and waiting for you in the entry hall," comes Jane's voice. Her small stature leans on the broad Asgardian and her eyes drift out in the same direction as his own. "Are you sure you want to take him with you to Jotunheim?"

"If our son is to become king of Asgard one day, then he must understand how to approach the Frost Giants diplomatically," Thor replies, placing a hand on his wife's.

"But what if…" Jane sighs. "What if these clouds, the snowing, is just a prelude to an act of war?"

Thor steps away, walking back into their chamber. "That is what I intend to discover."

Down in the entry hall awaits a young man. Tall and lean, he dons an engraved silver chest plate and runs a nervous hand through his short, light brown hair. He readjusts the straps of his leather knapsack for the seventh time, tugging at his heavy, brown hooded cape as he paces. His uneasy sky-blue eyes scan the hall around him, catching on little things like brass braziers and ancient weaponry and cloths decorating the walls.

From an adjoining corridor, the teen's younger sister watches him, contemplating whether to disturb his worrisome pacing. The young girl thoughtfully bats her icy blue eyes in his direction, deciding to interrupt his silent parade of self-doubt.

"Do not look so nervous, Jarle," her voice calls as she joins him. Jarle's head turns to find his little sister's reassuring smile coming his way, her long, ivory-colored curls bouncing as she walks.

"Forgive me if I'm a bit anxious, Valda, but I dread the idea of Jotunheim," Jarle says.

The girl rolls her eyes and turns her cherry lips into a smirk. Valda stands in front of her brother and straightens the cape on his shoulders. "You worry too much," she says, smoothing out the strap across his chest plate.

Her comment turns the corners of Jarle's mouth up into a weak smile. Valda knows her brother has always been jealous of her more confident nature, and if she were honest with him, she'd do anything to go on this trip in his stead. But then again, she's not going to rule over Asgard one day—no, that right belongs to Jarle. She only wishes she could gift her brother with an ounce of her confidence, then maybe he could exchange some of his meekness. Since she's been told over again that she's lacking in that department of being a "Princess."

"So," Valda breaks her thoughts. "Do you carry all that you need?"

"Aye. My knapsack is prepared for the journey with clothing and food, I have my spear on my back, and my cape for warmth," he says, touching each item as he names it.

"And what of your journal?"

The question hangs in the air as Valda watches the cogs in Jarle's head turn. Surely, he wouldn't have left the only thing that seems to keep him sane behind for the week-long trip ahead?

"Of course!" he exclaims. "I've forgotten it completely." Jarle starts to run for his chamber on the other side of the castle, but Valda stops him in his tracks.

"I already have it," she says, smiling. She holds out an old, leather-bound book—practically falling apart—held together by leather cord down the spine and wrapped across the middle. Her brother sighs in relief at the sight of the book and he takes it from her. "I thought you might need it."

"Thank you, sister," he says, tucking his written thoughts safely away in his bag.

Valda eyes her brother, examining his nervous movements. He absentmindedly pulls at the strap on his armor, occasionally rolling his shoulders to readjust his chest piece. She's never seen him so edgy before. Usually, between the two of them, Jarle is the more steadfast and consistent, able to keep his emotions and thoughts well-reigned in. But you'd never know it from how he's acting now. Jarle has been on several diplomatic trips with their father before, but this is as anxious as Valda's ever seen him, which in turn causes a pang of worry to form in her gut. For a moment, she finally stops and considers what her father and brother are heading into.

Jarle has a right to be nervous. These are the Frost Giants we're talking about, and they're certainly not gentle creatures. In fact, they hate Asgardians—Thor specifically—with an icy passion. The idea that they might be the ones causing the snow clouds to appear isn't a far-fetched one, but still nerve-wracking all the same. The warrior and adventure in Valda beg her to ask her father if she can accompany them, but the disappointment of past let downs by her father reminds her she's not going anywhere. She'll stay here in Asgard where he thinks it's safe—mostly. Besides, there's no point in asking a question you already know the answer to.

Heavy footfalls down the hallway pulls the siblings from their thoughts, and their parents come into view. Thor is armored and cloaked, with _Mjölnir_ secured to his golden belt. Jane walks beside him with their youngest child, Astrid, propped on her hip. At first, Thor smiles proudly—that smile he uses when he's trying to hide his own fear. But it doesn't stay for long as Valda raises a brow to him.

"So, father, what do you think will happen when you and Jarle arrive in Frost Giant territory?" she asks curiously, stabbing through Thor's thinly veiled appearance of confidence.

"Valda," Jane shoots, apparently aware of the girl's meaning. The baby in her arms wiggles around and garbles some noises at her sister.

"It is all right, Jane. I do not know what we will face in Jotunheim, but I do know that we will be prepared for whatever comes." Thor's words come hollow, empty, as if he's reciting a greeting from a cue card. "Heimdall assured me on the yester that Fandral and Hogun have made it safely ahead and are waiting for our arrival. So, we must hurry."

"Indeed," Jarle agrees. "I am ready when you are, father."

Thor nods to his son, but looks back to Jane with a light in his eyes Valda has never seen before—uncertainty. The girl understands that the situation before them could be dire, and they have no way to know what waits for them in the next realm. But even in the face of such danger, Valda has always seen her father portray a strength and confidence she strives to achieve daily. But today, right now, he looks as scared as her brother.

Thor kisses his wife goodbye and pecks baby Astrid on the forehead, the cooing child grabbing at his blonde beard. The Prince proceeds to clench a fist over his heart, aiming the salute at Valda. She returns it, a warrior's way of saying goodbye. But that isn't good enough for her as she wraps her arms as far around her father's thick torso as she can, squeezing him tightly.

"Be careful, father," she reminds him, her voice barely a whisper.

Thor, taken back by the gesture, smiles down at her, resting a hand on her head. "I will."

"You keep your dad safe, okay?" Jane says to Jarle, winking at him.

"I shall, mother," he answers, smiling back. "We shall return in one week's time."

With all their goodbyes said, the two men make their way out of the castle and capitol walls. Valda and Jane find their way up through the castle and watch the men from a balcony overlooking the gates. From here, Valda can see her brother and father approach Heimdall at the Bifrost, Balder standing with him to bid them farewell. The winds from the north begin blowing furiously as the clouds advance on the capital city, as if aware of Thor's departing. The two men step foot on the rainbow bridge and Heimdall opens a portal for them to walk through, leaving the realm of Asgard behind in his step-brother's hands.

Valda keeps her icy eyes focused on the portal as it dissolves, then bursts into light. A sense of dread and anger pulls at her stomach. The Princess has no doubt that Asgard will be protected should something happen, but with Odin in his Odinsleep, Balder the only guard watching over the castle, and only one of Warriors Three still in Asgard—Valda can't ignore the fact that her home is in a vulnerable position. It's bad enough that she's been left behind one more time, and these clouds could mean trouble with the Frost Giants. But now her father, brother and two of Asgard's greatest warriors are gone in hopes of discovering the truth behind it all.

A chill wraps her arms in goosebumps, and it isn't the effect of the downdraft from the mountains. _This is going to be a long week._

 **Asgard Castle, Asgard. Friday, September 12** **th** **, 2042. Early morning.**

Flurries of ice dance on the wind that whips outside the Princess's chamber window. The intense cold from the snow storm still accumulating outside forces the glass to fog around the seal, but the girl enjoys the warmth of her quilted blanket while she slumbers the morning away. The young Asgardian sleeps soundly with no concern for the howling wind outside, or the time of morning. Valda turns over to face the window, her pale blue eyes barely cracking open. The soft glow of light outside informs her that it's time to rise, but her warm cocoon of blankets begs her to stay. And she does a few minutes longer, long enough for someone to open the door to her room and sneak in.

A short and feminine figure approaches the side of Valda's bed, the Princess unaware of the intruder's presence. The girl to Valda's back steps into the light shining from the window and reaches her hands out towards the sleeping Princess, waiting for the perfect time to strike.

After a deep breath, the girl lunges at Valda and shakes at her shoulders. "Valda! Awaken this moment!"

Valda jolts up and off the bed, falling to the floor at the girl's feet. The angered and slightly terrified young lady pushes her mop of frizzy, sand-colored hair out of her face and looks to the intruder with blurry eyes, frowning in disapproval. "Eira! What are you doing?" she growls.

Eira—Valda's best friend and closest confidant—smiles down at her. "I'm carrying out what your mother requested of me."

Valda—Princess of Asgard, daughter of Thor, Lady warrior in training, not a morning person. She groans and flops back against the side of the bed, rubbing her face in exasperation.

"Come along and dress. There is much we must attend to today," Eira says, pulling Valda up to her feet. Standing face to face, Valda towers in comparison to short, red-headed Eira, but differences in height have never bothered the two friends.

"But training and my studies don't begin until noon, why must I rise so early?" Valda questions, picking up the pillows and blankets that fell with her.

"Do you not recall what day it is?" Eira asks, raising a brow.

Valda thinks for a moment as she dumps the arm full of pillows on her bed. _Now let's see, tis not my birthday, tis not father's birthday—or anyone_ _else's_ _for that matter. Tis not time for the Hunt, or the Harvest Feast…so what day is it?_

After contemplating, Valda shakes her head. "No."

Shock displays in Eira's bright green eyes. "Valda, Thor and Jarle return today!" she says. They stare at each other until it clicks in Valda's head.

"Oh-oh no! I must get dressed, I must clean up, I must—wait. Does that mean that I will not be training with Aunt Sif this afternoon?"

"Does it matter?" Eira questions, walking over to the Princess' wardrobe. She opens the beautifully carved wooden doors and picks out an outfit for her friend.

Valda wrings her hands anxiously. She forgot about her father and brother's return from Jotunheim being today. She's just been so focused on trying to get her mind off them being gone as not to worry, that it slipped her mind entirely. The thought of forgetting makes her upset with herself, but she gets dressed anyway. She pulls on the navy pants Eira set out for her but stops when she gets to the long-sleeved, beaded tunic laying on her bed.

"Eira," she starts. "I'm not wearing this."

Eira stops rifling through her friend's closet and whips around with a confused expression. "Why not? It's freezing outside and throughout the castle."

"I like the cold and the snow. Hand me something else, something less…Princess-like." The red-head rolls her eyes and pulls out a short-sleeved shirt with gold trimmings and designs. Valda gives an approving grin then finishes dressing by pulling on her golden bracelets and strapping on a leather belt adorned with red draping.

"At last, now make haste! We must join your mother in the dining hall to help decorate," Eira says, pushing Valda out of her room.

"Decorate? I'm giving up my studies with Grandmother and training to decorate the dining hall?" Valda says, annoyance in her tone. The ivory-blonde stops in her place and crosses her arms over her chest, raising her eyebrows in expectation of an explanation.

Eira sighs, propping her hands on her hips. "I know you would prefer swinging your sword at Sif till the sun sets, but you have duties. You cannot escape them," she says, "not this day, at least."

Valda rolls her icy blues and huffs in defeat. She drops her arms and clutches the hand Eira has extended towards her, following the girl down the hallway. _Duties_. The word echoes through Valda's mind as they walk, adding heat to the flame of her anger and disgust. Being the Princess of Asgard is demanding enough on its own, but when all these extra "duties" are tacked on to the list of expectations of her, it makes for a miserable teenage-hood.

As the two near the dining hall, Valda catches a glimpse of a certain, freckled palace guard positioned nearby. She smirks inwardly and the two girls push open the towering dining hall doors to find the room in a disarray. Strips of cloth and chain for decorations are piled in heaps on the center table, while ladies' maids buzz about with various floral arrangements, all looking disheveled. Valda and Eira glance at one another, then back at the mess in front of them. The Princess' eyes search for Jane amongst the chaos, and spots her on the far side of the room, speaking to one of the cooks about the meal.

"No, absolutely no grog. The last time you served some of that stuff the men went crazy reenacting a battle and tore up the curtains," Jane says. "This is a welcome home gathering, not a victory feast." The cook rolls his eyes and walks back into the kitchen, grumbling all the way.

"Mother," Valda calls. Jane shifts her stance and smiles when she sees the two girls approaching.

"Val, I was wondering when you were gonna come help." She turns to Eira, "Thank you for getting her up for me."

"Of course," Eira curtsies respectfully. The red-head walks towards several ladies' maids to offer her help in hanging the decorations.

"Mother, I was wondering," Valda starts, following Jane as she continues to organize the mess around them.

"Must I skip my classes and training today? I know father and Jarle are coming home, but…perhaps we could shorten the lessons in time for the gathering tonight?" Valda offers an enticing smile while batting her eyelashes.

Jane picks up a flower arrangement and purses her lips, the expression on her face hard for Valda to read. "Mother?" she echoes.

"Yes, sweetie?" Valda looks at her with expectant eyes. "Oh, honey I'm sorry, I wasn't listening. There's just so much to do today, and I'm trying to teach these people how to throw an earth party." Jane chuckles and lays a hand on Valda's shoulder. "It means so much that you're willing to give up your day to help. I know how important training is to you. Now, what did you say?"

The Princess' shoulders sink and she sighs, knowing she'll disappoint her mom if she repeats her question. Her hands find a loose flower petal on the table beside her and she picks it up, gently rubbing the soft flora between her fingers, considering what to say. "I just asked…if-if you wanted me to make sure the castle grounds were in order?"

Jane nods. "I hadn't even thought about the grounds. That would be wonderful! Thank you, Val."

Valda smiles weakly as her mother kisses her cheek, then heads on her busy way. "Of course, it's not a problem," she whispers. Valda walks out of the dining hall, she tosses the petal to the side and leaves her mother to her work.

She makes it a few steps down the hall before she hears someone walk up behind her. She notices the footfalls sync with hers and the girl instantly begins to smile. "Hello, Aric."

The young castle guard meets Valda's pace and walks beside her, a grin on his reddened face. "How did you guess it was I?"

The young Asgardian's voice comes out smooth and Irish, and Valda can't help but suppress a chuckle. "I noticed you a moment ago when Eira and I walked by."

Aric laughs and wraps his fingers around Valda's hand nearest to him, pulling her closer to his side as they walk. The girl's bare arm brushes against his silver guard armor, and she wonders what he's doing away from the Hall of Relics, his usual post.

"Aric, aren't you supposed to be on the other side of the castle watching old artifacts?" she asks as they near the entry hall.

"Yes, but I was waiting for you. I thought maybe we could take a stroll outside since you enjoy the cold so much," he says, both stopping at the entrance doors. The young man grins at her, but Valda simply rolls her eyes. Ever since Aric was promoted from stable hand to castle guard, he's had his eyes on the Princess. Valda will admit that she's fond of him, but she also denies any claim of encouraging his behavior. Just a little harmless flirting, that's all.

"Well, I did tell mother that I would inspect the grounds before father and Jarle's welcome gathering tonight. So, I suppose, if you were inclined, you could accompany me," she suggests, raising a brow. Aric takes that as a yes, pushes the doors open and braces for the cold that hits them as they leave the castle walls.

Valda's first step out lands in a thick layer of snow, and she fights to urge to roll around in it. It's true that this blizzard appeared out of nowhere a week ago, and could possibly mean war with the Jotuns, but that doesn't mean she can't enjoy it while it's here. The weather in Asgard is always the same—pleasant, save for the few times the Frost Giants have made it snow just out of spite. But those were the times Valda longed for as a child and still does now. The girl tromps through the white blanket, grinning like a goof as she grabs at the snowflakes falling around her.

"I'll never understand yer fascination with snow," Aric comments behind her.

But Valda simply smiles and breathes in the crisp air, letting it chill her lungs. She glances out towards the cobblestone courtyard ahead and begins running towards it, hoping the stones are frozen enough to slide on. She pulls at Aric's arm, "Come on!"

Aric reluctantly follows along, trying not to fall on his face while Valda yanks at him. The two rush towards the snow-lined courtyard, the cobblestones glazed over with ice and traced with crunched down snow. Valda's boots begin to slip as soon as she steps onto the stones, and a childish grin pulls at her lips. Her icy eyes glance over to Aric whose freckled face twists into terror. The Princess snickers at the expression on the ginger's face, and she pulls him onto the cobblestones. The two slide several feet closer towards the Stable on the other side of the courtyard.

A not-so-manly squeak escapes Aric's lips as Valda wraps her arms around his to steady him. She smiles at him and pulls him along, gliding across the frozen-over stones with ease.

"Isn't this fun?" she asks, Aric's grip on her arms loosening slightly.

"It is not as bad as I thought...still not my idea of fun," he smirks. One of Aric's hands slips out of Valda's grasp, apparently a little more confident on the ice.

The two near the end of the courtyard and the Princess decides to make things interesting. "Let's race!" she yells.

She launches herself forward and let's go of Aric's hand. The young man almost falls forward without Valda's steadiness to keep him vertical. "That was not fair!"

Valda whips around and winks at him, jumping off the stones and bolting towards the stables ahead. Behind her, she hears the boy hit the snowy ground hard and laughs as she rushes through the stable's door. Valda darts her head around, checking to make sure no one is around, but before she can finish scanning the stalls, Aric comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Thought you could leave me behind, huh?" he says in her ear, trapping her in his grip.

"I am much faster than you at everything, so yes," she comments. He pulls her in tight and brushing his lips on her cheek, forcing the girl to blush. She cranes her neck to the side and their eyes lock, but Aric grins past the feigned daggers her icy blue eyes shoot at him. She watches him move in closer but jumps at the sudden sound of a throat clearing beside them. The two quickly separate, panic straightening their posture as a face is put to the source of the sound.

"Sif, I-uh…we were just, I mean to say, I was just…" Valda stammers, her cheeks hot with embarrassment.

Lady Sif raises a brow at the two, her dark eyes unreadable as she stares the teens down.

"Lady," Aric bows respectfully. "Valda, I'll see you in the castle." The boy rushes out of the stables, leaving the Princess alone with her mentor.

"Sif, I can explain," she starts, wringing her fingers.

"No need," Sif smirks. "I was young once."

Valda heaves an inward sigh of relief. "So, you won't tell mother then?"

"Oh no, I plan to tell her this instance," Sif says in a flat tone. The Princess' eyes widen and her breath hitches in her throat. But as Sif begins to smile, Valda realizes she's joking. "I will not tell your mother."

Valda's nervous laugh releases the bubble of tension in her stomach and she rubs the back of her neck awkwardly. Sif strolls past the girl and resumes her work with the horses and Pegasi before she was interrupted. She picks up a brush sitting on a shelf nearby and tosses it to Valda. The Princess catches it, raising a brow at the item now in her hands. Her icy eyes drift up to Sif who nods to a grey steed in the next stall.

"Silva needs brushing."

The Princess shrugs her shoulders and approaches the horse carefully, offering the animal soft-toned affirmations. Valda has learned over her years of training with Sif that if she throws something at you, literally or figuratively, it's best not to question her. The girl begins brushing Silva's body with gentle strokes, scratching the horse behind the ear as she goes. In the stall across from her, Sif's attempts to untangle the mane of a jet-black Pegasus are met with struggle. Valda imagines she would have better luck combing his hair if Sif would keep her caramel eyes focused on the horse instead of her.

The silence of the moment is broken when Sif finally speaks. "Why are you not in the castle helping your mother prepare for tonight's gathering?"

Valda sighs and swipes the brush down Silva's back. "I am…or was. I offered to check the grounds, but then Aric followed me outside and, well—he distracted me."

"He certainly did. Valda, you know that as Princess how you spend your time is important," Sif reminds her.

"I know, I know. But Aric follows me around all the time, it's not as if I run into him to get out of my duties," Valda pauses. A question comes to mind as she stares at Sif's appearance; her casual, long-sleeved attire, her raven hair woven in a tight braid down her back, with not so much as a dagger at her side. "Aunt, why are you not helping mother prepare?"

Sif chuckles, finally done combing the Pegasus' hair. "Because I have my own duties to attend to, as I do every day. I intend on joining Jane in the dining hall later, but for now, I have responsibilities to fulfill."

The lady warrior sets the comb aside and moves on the filling her stall's trough with fresh water and food. She continues this down the line of stalls in the large, spread out stable, draping a blanket over each horse as she goes. Valda watches and smiles at the level of care Sif uses with each movement she makes, the gentleness of each touch, the kindness of each word to the animals. It's hard to believe that Sif is a ruthless warrior from watching her take care of her horses. Only the soreness of past rumbles and training sessions remind Valda of how dangerous Sif is.

"Sif, how do you balance everything? Your work, responsibilities, training me. Do you ever have time to breathe?" Valda's question takes Sif by surprise, but she offers the girl a gentle smile.

"Most days I barely have time to eat, read, or even ride the horses I love so dearly, but the importance of my work helps me to focus on accomplishing my duties," she says. Sif relieves Valda of brushing Silva and finishes grooming him within minutes, dropping the brush next to the comb she used earlier. With the stables cleaned up, and the horses attended to, Sif motions her head at Valda, telling her to walk alongside her. "Valda, you do not appear happy for your father and brother's return. Is there a reason for this?"

The girl sighs, tucking some of her ivory curls behind her ears. "I suppose I wasn't prepared for them to come home yet. Of course, I want them home, so badly, but I didn't wish to give up my studies and training for a whole day. I know it seems selfish of me, but if I can't leave Asgard, then why should my schedule be disrupted."

The two enter the frozen courtyard Valda had come from earlier, but Sif remains silent as the girl rants. "Father's spent my whole life drilling 'duties' and 'rules' into my head, and going on about the importance of 'doing what I'm told when I'm told'. Ugh…I just wish…I wish he would allow me some breathing room."

Valda shoulders sink as her peace is said, and her inner thoughts exposed. Sif, her mentor and friend, wraps an arm around her shoulders. "Valda, my dear, I understand that Thor can be a little controlling when it comes to his children, but it is only because he wants the best for you. And if he sees fit to keep you in Asgard, then I would trust his judgment. I haven't always, mind you, but Thor loves you dearly. Eyes up, young Valkyrie, your time will come."

A smile returns to the girl's face as she accepts Sif's encouragement. "I hope so."

"I must return to my duties now, but I shall see you at the gathering." Sif and Valda go their separate ways, but it's as though the woman's words follow her as she meanders back inside the castle walls. _Your time will come,_ echoes in her mind. "Perhaps one day soon," she adds.

 **Asgard Castle** **. Late Evening.**

"Hasten, Valda! We're going to be late," Eira says as she drags at the Princess' arm.

Valda groans as the two girls run down a long hallway, struggling with her dress the whole way. "Must I wear this thing? I don't think father or Jarle will care if I'm wearing a fancy dress."

"Perhaps not, but Lady Jane asked you to, and you should do as she says. Now hurry up. I told your mother we would meet her in the dining hall, Thor and the others are on their way now!"

The girl pulls at the hem of the heavy, burgundy dress her mother chose for her while she was running errands around the castle earlier. After much arguing and deliberation, Jane allowed Valda to wear her boots to the dinner instead of those Odin-awful, pinchy, girly shoes she was supposed to wear. But this dress? The Princess is sure it will be the death of her. It's dragging the floor, slowing her to an irritating speed-walk, not to mention the beaded and tight bodice. It may be beautiful to some, but to Valda, it's just a reminder that she is under the control of others.

Now almost to the dining hall, Valda and Eira make a final sprint to the entrance. The girls skid to a stop before entering, straighten each other's hair and breathe in deeply. They nod to each other then walk in, plastering smiles on their faces. Eira's smile is probably real—she's always liked these parties and gatherings—but Valda's is stiff and unnatural, like the one her mother gives when she's uncomfortable around some of Thor's Asgardian friends.

In the Hall, a small crowd has gathered around the elongated oval table situated in the center of the room. The middle of the table is colorfully adorned with special flowers imported from Alfheim, and woven runners with golden thread stretch down the center. The crowd consists of friends and Thor's fellow warriors such Volstagg, Valkyrie and Sif, and family—Frigga, Jane and Baby Astrid. Few more meander around, all tense with anticipation waiting for Balder to return with the men. The scent of freshly roasted meat and baked bread drift through the room, and Valda's stomach starts to grumble.

 _I swear I haven't eaten since breakfast, what with all this running around I've been doing,_ she thinks, nibbling her bottom lip. Jane and Frigga stand near the doors and greet people as they come in. And although Jane looks slightly uncomfortable with all these people, Valda can't help but notice how lovely her mom looks standing in the starlight pouring in from the stained window beside her. The two girls join Jane and Frigga, Valda's grandmother bouncing her little sister in her arms.

"Hello Mother, Grandmother," Valda greets.

"M'Lady, your Highness," Eira says with a bow to Jane and Frigga respectively.

"Valda, my dear, you look beautiful!" Frigga says, pulling Valda in for a tight hug. "You both do."

Valda smiles as her cheek squishes against her Grandmother's. "Thank you, Grandmother. And don't you look lovely you little dwarf," Valda says, poking her little sister's nose. Astrid grabs at her finger, giggling and gurgling to convey her annoyance.

"A dwarf? Hardly," Jane says, combing Astrid's raven hair out of her face.

Valda and Jane's eyes meet for the first time tonight, and they share an empathic smile. Without warning, Frigga begins pulling at her best friend's arm. "Eira my dear, may I consult with you on a particular spell I'd like to teach you?"

Eira walks to the other side of the room with the Queen, nodding excitedly as she goes. Valda snickers, but Jane raises a brow.

"I wonder what that was about?" she asks.

"Who knows?" Valda shrugs. She links her arm around her mother's and rests her head on Jane's shoulder. The two silently watch the people gathered around them stroll to and from, mingling and such with each other. Valda sighs, wishing she could ask her mother's permission to leave. It's not that she doesn't want to greet her father and brother on their return, it's simply that she'd rather do so under less public accommodations. Sure, she knows most of the people here, even enjoys their company, but there are some she wished had stayed home. Specifically, the ones who impose themselves on her parents' good nature.

The sound of hurried footfalls drags Valda and her mother from their thoughts and people watching. A young castle guard bursts into the hall and starts yelling. "They have arrived! They have arrived"

The small crowd clumps together around the hall's entrance, whispering amongst themselves in excitement. Valda and her family are at the front, taking their places as the first to greet the men, along with Volstagg and Sif beside them. The sound of heavy boots clomping down the hallway echoes into the dining hall, an everyone eagerly awaits with baited breath. The steps come to a climactic halt, then the doors open to reveal the weary travelers dusted with snow. Thor, Jarle, Fandral and Hogun, all with tired, reddened faces, smile at the welcoming and are soon tackled by their loved ones.

Valda is first to plow into her father, squeezing Thor's torso in relief. Jane wraps her arms around Jarle, and the four end up in a suffocating group hug. Volstagg parts the group and pulls all his friends in, Thor included. Sif simply stands back and lets the men for men have their moment before shaking each one's hand and offering a "Welcome Home." But the crowd parts when Frigga makes her way forwards, forcing Thor to lean down for her to kiss his chilled forehead.

The Queen turns back to the group smiles brightly. "Our Warriors have returned home, now, let us celebrate." And with that, everyone finds a seat at the table, some taking longer to sit than others. The food is already spilling out of the kitchen on platter after platter before Thor, Jane and several others are even seated. Valda has so many questions bumping around in her head but walks alongside her family quietly, allowing the others to ask their question first.

"Was everything all right while we were away?" Thor asks, his arm wrapped around Jane.

"Yes, everything went smoothly, nothing to worry about," she answers.

"What I should like to know is how things faired in Jotunheim," Frigga says, cutting straight to the point.

 _As would I,_ Valda thinks.

"There will be a time for revelations after the party," Fandral suggests. He leads Frigga to a seat while Thor sits at the head of the table. Jane sits to his left while his mother sits to his right. Valda takes a set next to her mother and Jarle, rolling her eyes impatiently as they wait for the others to sit.

With all finally are in a chair, Thor stands and greets the group whose undivided attention rests solely on him. "I thank all of you for this warm homecoming, we were not expecting such a crowd of friendly faces," he starts. But as he continues with his ear-pleasing short speech, Valda can see the discomfort in his eyes. She can hear the thinness of his voice as he dances around the real reason they left in the first place. Someone from the other end of the table speaks up during a pause in Thor's words.

"What of your findings in Jotunheim?" a man's voice booms. Before Valda can praise whomever for their directness, Fandral speaks up.

"Our findings will be reviewed by the court tomorrow, when we're not all falling over from exhaustion. Tonight, we feast!"

Thor nods in agreement, and most of the room concurs loudly, but Valda notices the glances thrown between Frigga, Jane and Jarle. And instantly, she can tell something is off. The weight of it carries on through the entirety of the meal. Valda picks and pushes her food around her plate, meat and leafy greens don't interest her tonight. No, she'd much rather here what Thor and the others found. Or didn't find. _I wonder if they had to fight any Frost Giants, or perhaps they were forced to slay one. I hope the Jotuns aren't preparing an assault, or maybe we're going to attack them?_ Valda's worsening speculations draw her attention to the darkest corners of her mind, feeding off her concerns.

After sifting through a flood of ideas and assumptions, an elbow gently bumps her side. Her eyes refocus and search for the elbow that jabbed her, but finds her mother's bright blues staring at her. They exchange a worried glance, then both redirect their focus to Thor, who sits quietly and prods his food while Fandral spins story after story to entertain. Occasionally, he leans on Jarle and Hogun to support his grand tales, both halfheartedly agreeing. Questions from up and down the table fly towards the men and most of them are settled with an extravagant answer, but Valda notices that before any of the questions are answered, the men look at each other, almost as if confirming their stories before they speak.

"Something weird is going on, Mother," Valda whispers to Jane.

Jane nods. "I'll get to the bottom of it before the night is out." And the two continue to observe the strange behavior.

The meal finishes after a while of people munching and conversing, and those that don't go on home afterward, gather around the fireplace behind Thor. Many pull up chairs or simply stand by to hear more stories from the warriors, Volstagg joining in with a leg of meat in his hand. Valda stays at the table and listens from where she is, but rolls her eyes at the fruitless and idle conversations.

After sitting through all she can bear, or until the stories begin repeating themselves, Valda stands from her place at the table and exits the dining hall in silence. Once outside the doors, she heaves a heavy sigh and begins pulling ribbons and clips from her pinned up hair. As soon as her ivory curls fall down her back, a weight is lifted from her neck, and being upright doesn't seem as tedious as before.

On her walk down the hallway, her frustrated attitude returns. If she had her sword with her, she'd gladly go outside and chop away at some practice dummy made of wood and hay just to release some of her anger. It wasn't fair that they were keeping things about their trip from her. It's bad enough Jarle got to travel and she didn't. All she ever wanted was to travel, if but for a few days. She would take any time away from this palace she calls a prison. Valda remembers early in her childhood, hearing stories from both her mother and father of the beauty and adventure on Earth. All she ever dreamed of as a child was going there, seeing all her parents had seen. Leaving Asgard is the only gift she has asked for since she was seven, and around that time is when the stories stopped. When her father no longer shared his memories of Earth with her.

Valda scoffs at the thought of him. High and mighty Prince of Asgard, honorably ruling in aging-Odin's place, how noble is he. With his secrets, double-standards, and favoritism. This Princess has had her share of being under his thumb, trapped by his worries and imprisoned by his fears. She's had just about enough of having her one dream—her one and only request—denied. She'll show him one day, even if she must get to Midgard by her own means.

Her walk takes her to the Hall of Records, or as her mother calls it, the library. She cracks open the towering door, cringing at the creaking that echoes off the walls. She enters what she considers her sanctuary, her quiet place, and sighs in relief. The smells of old parchment and leather fill the air like a burning candle, warming her very essence. Valda walks further into the room, smiling at the area of table and books scattered about, with a wooden bench tucked under the center table.

Valda approaches the table, and glides her hand over it, catching on school books stacked up from her and Jarle's lesson here the day before. She sighs, taking comfort only in books and the ancient scrolls.

There's something about the bookshelves of the library that give the girl a sense of security. As much comfort as the library has always brought her, it is also her reminder that this is her prison. The pages of stories around her may hold thousands of years of wisdom on them, but they also tell her that she's trapped here, held hostage by her father's will. These books and scrolls tell of great adventures, of the Nine Realms and the good and evil surrounding them. But these stories are her only way of seeing these places, experiencing these adventures. These books are her window to the outside world—her window, and her cage.

Valda walks a narrow path between several rows of towering shelves. As she walks, she runs her hand on the spines of the books she passes, her fingertips catching on leather cords holding them together. After a few shelves, she stops, her hand stopping with her. Her icy eyes turn to the book her fingers have landed on and pulls it out. The book's worn leather cover and faded, etched gold edges bear the title, "Legends of Old."

The girl scoffs. "Legends of Old, indeed."

She cracks open the cover, rubbing the frail and discolored pages between her fingers. The edges rough and cracked, she proceeds to turn the pages carefully. The first chapter begins by recounting the events of Asgardian creation, of the beginning of it all. The tale is nothing she hasn't heard all her life, so she skips it. After flipping ten or twelve pages, she lands on a chapter that catches her eye. The telling of Odin and his brothers, and their attempt to destroy the fire demon Surtur.

Within this chapter tells a gripping story that glues Valda's eyes to every word she reads. She'd heard this story before as well, but not like this. This more realistic and harsh version spares no gruesome details of how Villi and Vi gave their lives so that Odin could rule Asgard. The image of Surtur trapping the two gods in Muspelheim with him, dragging them into the lake of fire...

With her full attention on the book in her hands, Jarle slips into the library unnoticed. His sky-colored eyes catch on his sister standing in the shadows of dark-wood shelves, then drift down to their lesson table. On the table's quartz top is a spread of various books and scrolls that weren't there yesterday, all likely to have been part of today's schooling with Frigga, if Jarle hadn't been in Jotunheim at the time.

He returns his gaze to Valda and speaks. "Catching up on some reading?"

Valda jumps and slams her book to a close, sucking in air. "Jarle! I uh…What are you doing away from the party?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," he says, approaching her. "What are you reading?"

Valda's expression tells him that what he asked hasn't registered yet. "Oh, what I'm reading?" She glances down at the book, then back to him. "Just some old tales."

"May I?" he asks. The young man meets her in the narrow aisle between shelves and she hands over the book. She watches as his eyes carefully scan the aged cover, his pupils stopping at every detail they find. There is one thing about her brother, his attention to detail is matched by none. "Legends of Old, huh?"

"Just old tales," she echoes. Her body shifts away from him, keeping her eyes' focused on anything but her brother. Jarle opens the book and flips through the pages absentmindedly, no intent to land on a certain page.

"I know all of this is difficult for you, Val," he starts. "The party, the people... the dress I'm sure."

Valda offers a raised brow and a smirk. _He knows me too well,_ she thinks. "This one is not as bad as others I've worn. But, I would have been happier in something else."

Jarle chuckles and slips the book in the shelf's gap. "Of course."

A pause in dialogue turns into an awkward silence. Valda contemplates what her brother will say next, or what she'll say for that matter. But no words are spoken as Jarle drags out the bench from under their work table. The bench legs scrub loudly against the marble floor, the sound echoing through the room. Valda watches and cringes, until he finally sits down, prompting a sigh of relief for her poor ears.

"Are you angry with me?" Jarle asks out of nowhere.

Valda blinks, taken aback by his question. "Why would you think I was angry with you? You've only just returned—"

"Which is precisely why I'm confused by your attitude towards me."

"I wasn't aware I had an attitude," she says, her brow furrowing.

"You can't pretend with me Valda, you've had a chip on your shoulder ever since we walked in the dining hall," he insists. The two exchange expectant glances, their eyes locking in a stare down.

Valda breaks and turns her face away, crossing her arms over her chest. "I-I'm just…it's not fair."

"What's not fair?" Jarle asks. He keeps his eyes trained on his little sister's back, waiting for her to face him again. Her shoulders sink, and she looks back at him.

"Everything! All I've wanted since I was little is to travel—anywhere. It's all I've ever asked for. But Father has taken you all around the realms and back. You don't even like to travel," she says.

"Val, Father's trips with me are part of my diplomatic training, it's part of becoming a responsible member of the royal court," he explains.

"And of me? Am I to be excluded from learning these diplomatic skills? I am just as much a part of the court as you are," she says, raising her voice.

"But I am to be King one day," he returns. As soon as the words leave his mouth, Valda's head drops. "Val, I…I didn't mean—"

"No. I know I'm not in line to rule, but I am still a Princess. I deserve as much as you do." Her voice, now small and soft, drops off, unsure of what to say now without sounded self-absorbed. "I…I just want to see what you've seen."

Jarle sighs, his heart filling with sympathy for his sister. "Valda, did you ever consider perhaps Father is keeping you here to protect you?"

"Protect me from what?" she wonders aloud.

"Yourself. And before you cut down my observation, let me explain," he reasons.

"Please do," Valda says, rolling her icy eyes.

"I know you would never admit it, but you have a lot of Father's spirit in you. And I believe he knows that. I also believe that he knows if you leave and travel to another realm, Midgard specifically, you'll never want to come back. He's only looking out for your best interests," Jarle offers. Her brother's words force Valda to ponder on them a moment. She knows Jarle despises when she flies off the handle without considering his perspective.

"I know it may seem as though I am, but I am not our father. I know I can't stay in Midgard or any other realm besides Asgard, but that doesn't give him the right to trap me here, and prevent me from leaving at all!" she exclaims.

"Valda, I understand that you want to see Earth, I would enjoy seeing it once myself, but Father is under a lot of pressure right now, he couldn't take you even if he wanted," Jarle says.

"Then maybe I should go myself," she says. She immediately throws her hand over her mouth as Jarle bolts up from the bench, propping his arms on the table top for support.

"Valda," his voice now a whisper. "Don't say things like that!"

"Why not?" she whispers back.

"Because I know you, and you are not going to run away," he says.

"If you know me so well, then you'll know how much I want to leave," she returns, a fire burning in her icy blue eyes.

"Not enough to run away," he tells her.

She smirks. "Try me."

The two stare at one another, postures stiff as they both search for any sign of hesitation in the others' eyes. They watch each other from across the table for what seems like an eternity until Jarle finally gives in, and relaxes his body. He sits back on the bench, shaking his head in defeat.

"Valda, if you are smart, you'll not entertain this ludicrous idea any longer," he warns.

Valda waits before she answers him, eyeing his changes in expression. "And if I do...if I'm serious about leaving, would you stop me?"

Jarle snorts, then cracks a smile. "Have I ever been able to stop you before?"

"No, I suppose not," she says, returning his smile.

Valda watches Jarle turn his attention to the side, his eyes scanning the lofty, glass windows to the right.

"Valda," he starts. "Theoretically, if you do...go I mean." He turns his head back to meet her eyes. "Know that I won't lie for you. But, I won't tell Father."

The girl breaks into a huge grin. This was Jarle's way of giving her permission, and she couldn't be happier. Valda rushes around the table and tackles her brother, nearly knocking him off the bench. "Easy! I'm still sore from the journey."

"Right!" She pulls away, her expression still beaming. "If I do go, I know it'll only be a couple of days. But it's enough for me."

"My only question Valda, is how are you going to get there? Surely you can't convince Heimdall into pitying you." He makes a good point.

Valda looks around the room, specifically at the books strewn on their lesson table. Her eyes catch on one, a dark green book on ancient relics with ancient powers, and she begins to smile devilishly. "Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something."

* * *

 **A/N:** FORESHADOOOWWWW! Don't you love it? Anyway. Like Val? Like my story? Wanna know what happens next? Me too! Hopefully something good... NOW, UNTO GLORY. I can't wait to blow some minds with where this is going. Anyone connecting any dots yet?

 **Up Next:** Barton, Stark and Rogers are reminded that the struggle is real.

Hey I just posted this...and this is crazy...but since you've read it...review it maybe?


	9. Chapter 8: The Struggle Is Real

**A/N:** Hi everybody! I'm not going to give my usual spiel about how sorry I am for taking so long, because, well, that's just too much extra word count. I say that because this will be a longer chapter and it's longer because of how much story it covers. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I think it's safe to say that WE'RE PAST INTRODUCTIONS! Yay! This chapter will focus on the reunion of our trio, Antonio, Kassidy and James! I've been told by my wonderful friend/beta/proofer Megan, that they're all awkward cinnamon rolls that need to get it together. She's right. But, I'll let you, the glorious reader, decide for yourself. And thank you to SilverPedals for getting my commas under control! YOU RULE.

 **Disclaimer:** These characters and all their awkwardness belong to me, however, their parents and Marvel locations belong to Marvel. RIP Mrs. Lee.

Chapter 8: The Struggle Is Real

* * *

 **Grandperch Living, Apt. 412, Midtown, New York. Saturday, September 13th, 2042. 11:37 am.**

Kassidy is jolted from sleep by her holophone blaring that incredibly annoying disco tune she keeps forgetting to change. She sits up in her bed, darting her head around the bedroom in search of the device. When the phone is nowhere in sight, she throws her comforter across her bed in hopes it got lost under the thick blanket during the night. But the phone doesn't appear to be in the bed, and with every passing moment in search, the ringtone gets louder.

"Well, dang it! Where are you?" she yells. Kassidy jumps out of bed and takes to rooting through the mountain of clothes piled up on the chair in the corner. She sticks her hands in every pocket she comes across but to no avail. The Archer growls angrily, propping her hands on her hips as the phone continues to grind on her nerves. She mentally runs down a list of all the places it might've ended up, but no immediate epiphany springs to mind.

 _Last night,_ she thinks, attempting to clear away the fog in her brain to remember what she did when she came in. Yesterday was sort of a blur—extra classes back to back at the REC center, then patrolling till the break of dawn. Not that it wasn't time well spent, no. She much enjoyed seeing her students' progress in their training, and patrolling was certainly exciting when she ran into a friend—or rather, a friend ran into her. The memory of Mr. Marvel flying right into her and almost knocking her off the rooftop she was perched on forces her to laugh. He isn't the most graceful vigilante she's ever encountered, considering how green he is—no pun intended. But she had to hand it to him, his smart approach, flexibility and refreshing outlook make him a great hero.

 _Not to mention his personality,_ she silently adds, smirking. Her misplaced phone still ringing drags her from her thoughts.

"Sheesh! I get it!" she exclaims. Kassidy continues her search and visually sweeps the room, but realizes that the only way she'll be able to find her phone is if she retraces her steps. She walks over to her bedroom doorway, stepping over the clothes she pulled off last night and left on the floor.

"Okay," she starts, "when I came in, I dropped my gear in the living room. Then I grabbed my PJ's off the chair, and changed." The blonde looks around at the athletic clothes she tore off last night, thinking her phone might be in her hoodie pocket. She kneels to the floor and picks up the gray-striped jacket she left strewn on the floor. Rooting her hands through the front pocket, Kassidy pulls out some rope, her goggles, an extra arrow head, but no phone. She huffs, that pestering tune still ringing loudly.

 _I must be close,_ she thinks. _Because if I'm not, I'm going to scream._ Still knelt on the carpet, her aqua eyes scan the remaining clothing articles heaped on the floor, but they stop on her shoes. The gray canvas slip-ons sit side by side, next to the corner of the bed frame. As Kassidy looks in closer, she realizes one of them is vibrating and glowing purple. _How did I miss that?_ She grabs the shoe and finds her holophone hiding in the toe, collapsed and ringing that awful sound.

Kassidy rolls her eyes at herself. "Congratulations, Barton. You've successfully earned the title, Scatter-Brained." She presses the diamond-shaped center button, and the phone extends, the tone ceasing at last. _Now, what was all the ruckus about?_ The alert bubble on her holoscreen is an alarm, and she suddenly remembers why she chose that ringtone for it. The alarm was a reminder about tonight.

"Dinner with the guys!" she groans, covering her eyes with her palm.

Dinner may be a whole afternoon from now, but the impending doom weighing on her chest is present now. A few days ago, Kassidy couldn't contain her excitement over James' return. Now, after spending the last three days thinking about him, she dreads it. No matter what it was, or how minor the situation, James could always tell when something was off with her. And now, with both James and Antonio available to get on her case…

She shakes her head, rattling her thoughts. "No. This is a happy occasion. James is home! Remember how much you've missed him." But no amount of barking orders at herself will tear away her thoughts of doubt.

Kassidy realizes she's still sitting on the floor, so she gets up, throws her phone on the bed, and strolls into the living room. She ends up in her narrow kitchen across the room. The beige floor tiles chill her bare feet as she walks over to the white refrigerator. She yanks the handle on the appliance's bottom half, but when the door is fully pulled back she finds several shelves of nothing. Nothing but a lone bottle of out of date ketchup, a brown banana, and empty space where take-out containers once were.

Kassidy wrinkles her nose, but her now growling stomach reminds her she needs to eat something. Just…not the banana. "Looks like it's dry cereal for me." _That is, assuming I have cereal,_ she adds mentally. She steps to the left of the fridge and rises on her tip-toes, reaching for the overhead cabinet door. The oak-wood door opens and Kassidy's heart soars when she sees one box of Frosty Flakers—the pink lion mascot grinning happily on the box's front.

"Score!" she says. She snatches the box down and walks back into the living room, grabbing a water bottle from the case on the counter. She crams a handful of the sugar-coated corn flakes in her mouth and plops down on the leather futon butted against the bar behind it. She sits for a while, the only sound in the room is her crunching on cereal. After consuming about half the bag, she closes the box and stares at the T.V. across from her, the screen void of light. A chuckle sticks in her throat as she's reminded of how little she uses it, or any other electronic in her home. _Heck, I don't even think I have cable hooked up anymore._

But as she stares into the blackness, the screen consumes her thoughts and attention. The longer she gazes at it, the more it reminds her of how dark her own life has become. Kassidy remembers when she and Antonio first hooked up that T.V. after an entire day of lugging boxes into her then new apartment. Plugging in the television was a reward after working all day and the finishing touch to make it homey. She remembers how insistent Antonio was on watching some show he was obsessed with at the time—and they did. All night.

The memory brings a fleeting smile. She misses those days. The days before things became so complicated that she cut herself off from the outside world. Before Antonio left for college. Before her mom felt so far away. If there was one thing Kassidy wishes she could do, she'd mend the bonds torn by time and heartache. The bond between her and Bobbie that was pushed apart when Clint died.

The girl runs a hand through her messy golden hair as she thinks. After mulling it over a few minutes, she decides to grab her phone from her bedroom. She's going to call her. She needs to call her. She needs to talk to someone right now, and more than anything she wants to hear her mother's voice. Kassidy walks back to her room and finds her phone and calls her mom.

After a few dial tones, Bobbie's voice mail invites her to leave a message. She sighs in disappointment as the automated voice gives its spiel, "leave a message after the beep," and all that. The beep sounds and it's Kassidy's cue, but she's not sure exactly what to say...she's not sure if she had planned to say anything at all.

"Hi, Mom, it's Kassy. I just wanted to call and...talk I guess. But you're busy so I won't stay long. I—" she pauses, her voice hitching in her throat. "I'm just tired of being lonely. I want my friends back but there's something keeping us from being close, and I just...I just need to know if I should tell them the truth. I need your help because I don't know what to do."

Kassidy, now on the brink of tears, breathes in sharply, unsure of what else to add. "I miss you. I miss dad. I know things can't be how they were, but sometimes I just wish...Anyway. Any advice you can give me would be great."

The automated voice returns after an ending beep and tells her that if she's satisfied with her message, she can hang up. If not, she can press one. Kassidy moves the phone away from her face and presses the number one button.

"Recording deleted, at the tone, please record your new message."

Kassidy sighs and waits for the tone to beep. "Hey, Mom. Call me back when you get this. I can't wait for you to come visit next week. Love you." She hangs up this time, feeling worse than before but knowing deep down she can't do this alone anymore. She can't deal with the solitude of being surrounded by her own walls. _Maybe dinner wasn't such a good idea,_ she thinks, insisting that she won't feel better later. But she knows it's just another excuse to stay distant from her friends, and tonight…tonight is going to be different. No more hiding. No more running. Tonight, she hits this head on.

"Dinner," she whispers, resolve strengthening her tone. "I'm coming for you."

 **Rogers' House, Brooklyn. 12:09 pm.**

James grabs his navy duffle off his dresser and slings it onto his bed, unzipping it. After almost a week back home, he has yet to unpack his bag, but today he's finally forcing himself to do so, much to his displeasure. He begins to unload the contents, carefully placing each item of clothing or file in an orderly stack on his bed: Several sets of combat uniforms, a thick blanket rolled up with a small pillow, a black portfolio with a pen, a holocamera, a notebook, a few souvenirs, some civilian clothes and a dirty, half-torn cloth doll.

James holds the child's toy in his hands, staring into its brown button eyes as he caresses the doll's yarn hair. He sighs heavily and the little girl who gave it to him consumes his thoughts. He hadn't thought about her since he left the Zhai Lu pass over a year ago. And if he were honest with himself, he'd admit he tries not to. But he gives the doll a home in his room anyway, and sits her down on a tall bookshelf in the corner, next to a trophy of academic excellence he thought he'd boxed away four years ago.

He moves on and refocuses on the items spread out on his bed, looking at them, then looking around to figure out where to put them. In the middle of his mental layout, his stomach starts to grumble. James neglected breakfast this morning and considering he's been up since five, he's surprised it's taken him this long to become hungry.

"Lunch it is," he says to himself, exiting his room.

A short walk down the hallway and through the living room finds him in the kitchen, but only after he passes over that squeaking board and cringes. "I have to fix that stupid board," he mumbles.

James reaches the fridge and pulls on its handle, staring blankly at the full shelves with no idea what he wants to eat. He pushes and moves bottles of sauce and jars of olives in search of the perfect snack, but as he begins to convince himself to head to the cabinets, his heightened sense of smell catches a whiff of something. He inhales deeply, lifting his head from inside the fridge. He looks around at the counters, his dark blue eyes darting around to find where the aroma is coming from. Then he sees it, the most perfect Italian sandwich he's seen in years sitting on a plate, wrapped in paper with the orange and white logo of James' favorite food truck on it.

"That place is still in business?" He raises his brow, then looks around the kitchen. He approaches the sandwich and notices a bright green sticky note stuck to the table by the plate.

' _Went to Wes' truck at the park earlier, picked you up some lunch. I'm in the attic. Love, Mom.'_

"Wait, the attic?"

James grabs his sandwich and walks out of the kitchen, down the hallway, past his room. He stops in the doorway of the laundry room by the back door, and finds the attic door open, the metal ladder hanging down. He takes a bite of his sub and then proceeds up the ladder. As soon as his head gets past the ceiling, Natasha comes into full view—slumped over a box with her hair pulled back, and dust all over her green and black active wear.

"Hey, Mom," James says, now fully in the attic.

"Oh, hey! I see you got my note, and your sandwich," Natasha says. She grins at him and he can't help but smirk and shake his head. Sometimes she can be so weird, but her unpredictability makes her enjoyable to be around. He's missed that.

"Thanks for the Wes' sub. I really missed these." He takes another bite and watches her dig around in a box for a while before asking what she's doing. When he finally does, his mother's expression flashes pure excitement.

"You know what, I'm glad you asked. I'm looking for something special," she says, inviting him to inquire further.

There's a pause while he finishes his sandwich, then accepts that he'll have to interrogate her. "Well, what exactly are you looking for?"

She smirks and arches her brows, prompting James to sigh. He crumples up the sandwich wrapper and slides it in his jeans pocket, then squats down beside her. "If you must know, I'm looking for something of your father's."

"Do you need help?"

"Yes, actually, I do," she says. Natasha stands from her bent position and wipes her hands on her pants. "I'm looking for one of Steve's boxes, specifically one from either his war stuff or his Avenger mementoes."

James tilts his head in curiosity and rises to his feet. "What of Dad's are you looking for?" But after the question leaves his lips, Nat gives him another one of her smirks, and he decides just to help her find it…whatever it is.

The two begin combing the attic in search of boxes marked with Steve's name. James remembers when he was little, and Natasha and Gabriel packed Steve's things away in boxes for storage. They donated items they knew he would want to be donated, and packed away the things they knew he would've wanted either James or Gabe to have one day. Natasha waited a whole six months before even touching any of Steve's things after the accident. James never thought of his mom as sentimental in any way, but after the accident, there were a lot of things she did that wasn't her.

James parts the mist of memories and lands on an unmarked, cardboard box shoved in the corner. Wondering what's inside, he yanks on the crisscrossed flaps and pulls it open. The box is full of old toys and children's clothes, clothes James thought his mother donated when he and Gabe out grew them. He digs further in the box and finds an old, baby-blue teddy bear. The bear is missing a button eye, and one of its arms is torn with stuffing falling out, but the sight brings a smile to James' face nonetheless.

"Hey Mom, look what I found." James holds the toy up for Natasha to see.

Nat smiles at the bear James was never without as a child. "Wow, isn't that the one you used to carry everywhere?" She starts to laugh at its sad appearance and comes to stand next to James. "It's seen better days."

James grasps it firmly in his hands, reliving the days of his childhood. "I tried taking it in the tub with me one night."

"And you insisted I wash you both. Steve stood in the doorway and laughed while tried to convince you to let me have it, but you didn't let go. That was also when the split on its arm became a huge tear and I had to sew it up," she says, rubbing a hand on James' back.

"I was so upset when you took it from me. Didn't it used to have a little spangled bowtie with it once?" James asks.

"I think so, but there's no telling where that is," she answers. Natasha pats James on the back before returning to the box she was searching through on the other side of the attic. But the young man stares at the bear a moment longer, examining its every feature, a different memory coming back with each glance. But one memory plays in the forefront of his mind, one he's having a hard time moving past.

"I remember playing in the backyard with this thing and Gabe the day of Dad's accident."

The statement hangs in the air, and Natasha tenses up. "I don't remember that." Her tone cuts dry and harsh, and James can tell she wants to change the subject, but not this time.

"Why don't you ever want to talk about it?" he asks.

She keeps her peridot eyes trained on the contents of the box she's rummaging through. "Talk about what?"

James shakes his head, gently laying the bear back in its box. "Dad's accident. You never talk about it."

"Well maybe I don't want to talk about it—" she starts.

"Maybe I do, Mom. I don't remember a lot from that day. All I can seem to remember is playing outside in the snow with Gabe, then the next thing I know Nick Fury shows up and Gabe dragged me inside," he recalls. His blueberry eyes sift through the memories and thoughts and feelings surrounding that day, not sure what to make of any of it. But Natasha remains silent, her hands gripping the sides of a cardboard box for support. Her eyes are distant and her expression hollow, but James prods her further. "Tell me what happened that day."

Natasha sighs and blinks away her reluctance, kneeling beside the box. "I was inside making the two of you lunch while you were playing outside. I had been watching the news for a little while, but I wasn't really paying attention. All I could think about was Steve. He was so close to retirement when he was called in..." Natasha pauses, her eyes deep in the past. "After I finished your lunch, I heard something on the news that interested me, so I walked into the living room. I remember looking out the window at the two of you when I heard Gabe call out to me."

"Fury had walked up to the gate, and we weren't sure if we were supposed to let him in," James adds.

Natasha nods. "I ran outside and found you two standing there, staring at him..." Her words hang in her throat. James notices her eyes begin to glaze over like she's trying to separate herself from whatever she's feeling. "As soon as I looked him in his eye, I knew. Gabe took you inside and closed the door behind you...I'm glad he did. I didn't want either of you to see me. I've seen people die in front of me, good men. Good agents. I've even been the one to give the 'I'm sorry but they didn't make it,' speech. But it was me receiving the speech that time. I was on the other side, and I hated it."

James furrows his brow, recalling the men he lost in China, and how gut-wrenching the guilt and pain of losing them was. But he can't imagine what his mother went through. She'd lived a life of live or die, of sometimes they don't make it, and it was all for the greater good. But losing Steve was worse than all the loss accumulated in her life, and she didn't have to tell James for him to know that.

"Fury explained to me that Steve's plane hit a blizzard unexpectedly, And it crashed in the Swiss Alps. It exploded on impact. The funny thing was S.H.I.E.L.D. had been calling me all morning, but the landline wasn't working and I had my phone on silent." Natasha chuckles weakly, and for the first time since the conversation began, they lock eyes. Looking at her, it's as if James understands what she's thinking, the pain of remembering, the distress of talking about it.

James stands, and without warning to his mother, kneels before her and embraces her. His arms wrap around Natasha, and hers slips around his back, taking in her son's compassionate gesture. The moment envelops the two as the room stills to a calming quiet. No words need to be said, no affirmations or expressions of the heart given. This hug in this moment is enough for the two of them.

James wondered if Gabe had ever given her a hug like this, one without a motive other than compassion. Gabriel was always supposed to be the strong one, the first born everyone thought would become something someday. But when it came to talking about their father, the mere mention of Steve's name sent him running. He never talked about him when he was still home, it was like he was in denial, like he refused to admit that their father was gone. But James knew better, and that's why James made a point to always be there for his mother, even if Gabe wouldn't.

Natasha loosens her arms and they part. James offers a comforting smile with a hand still on her shoulder, gently rubbing it. Natasha breathes in deep, blinking away the mist in her bright green eyes, and the two go back to searching the attic. James gets halfway into digging through the next box when he hears the landline ring loudly, the sound echoing down the hall and through the laundry room below them. Natasha arches her brow and they both head down the ladder into the living room. The red wall phone that Steve insisted on having hangs on a small section of wall on the other side of the front door, vibrating as it rings.

"Hello?" Natasha answers. She looks almost shocked that someone called on the house phone, and it forces James to wonder how often she gets calls anymore. She casts her eyes towards him as if he came up in conversation. "Yes, he's here."

James' blueberry eyes widen and he mouths 'who is it.' She hands him the phone for him to find out. He takes the phone in hand, holding it up to his ear. "This is James."

"Hello Captain Rogers, my name is Doctor Cassandra Lang, I head up S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Agent Relations department as lead Psychological Analyst," comes a chipper yet nasally voice. _Oh no, here we go,_ James thinks. "I'm calling firstly to apologize for having to cancel our first meeting, I came down with a nasty cold and have been out for several days. But secondly, it was noted in your file that you didn't meet with your Guard recruiter during that time, or sign off on your service papers."

There's a pause as James contemplates what excuse to give for never seeing his recruiter, Colonel Phillips. "I didn't. I've been a little busy since I got home." He catches a glimpse of his mother rolling her eyes.

"I understand that, and for your convenience, I took the liberty of having those papers sent over to my office with your recruiter's signature on them. So, all you have to do when you come for your evaluation is sign them and you'll be accepted into reserve duty," she says.

"Reserve duty. Right," he replies.

"Right," she echoes. "So, once your evaluation has concluded I'll determine whether your fit for immediate reserve, which just means that you'll be the first contacted when reserve Agents are needed, or you'll fall into the limited duty category, where we'll basically leave you alone for the next two years. After that, you'll be signed off on, and labeled a civilian. Does that make sense?"

James nods, then remembers he's on the phone…and she can't see him. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good!" she says happily. "Then I have you scheduled for Monday morning at ten o'clock. Will that be doable?"

James thinks for a moment. He'd rather be left alone, be done with S.H.I.E.L.D. completely, but for him to be done with them, he has lots of paperwork to sign his name on. Not to mention he needs to do well on his evaluation, or not well? Whatever he must do to become a civilian, he's willing to do it. "That's fine."

Doctor Lang gives him an address and a parting assurance it'll be an easy meeting, then hangs up. James hands the phone back to Natasha, who's been smirking at him since the conversation began. She hangs the phone back on the wall then proceeds to look him in the eyes and say; "I told you to go Wednesday regardless of whether your evaluation was postponed or not."

"Mom, can we not?"

"Okay," she holds her hands up defensively. "We won't. But you are going Monday even if I have to drag you there myself."

 **Stark Tower, Midtown. 12:46 pm.**

Antonio finds himself dumbstruck whilst attempting to make a college intern understand the concept of professional courtesy.

"You can't just take someone's high powered hand-welder without asking, then make them search all over the tower before you tell them you had it!" he says. The vacant expression of the intern at fault reaches under the young Stark's skin. When Antonio asked Tony for a "real position" at work, keeping the interns out of trouble wasn't exactly what he meant.

"I'm sorry Mr. Stark, I'll give it back immediately if that's what you want," says the young man.

Antonio sighs and nods. "Please do."

The intern turns around and walks away, searching for the worktable he took the welder from. Antonio shakes his head and grips the bridge of his nose, a throbbing headache coming on. He'll never understand why his dad decided watching after the interns was the perfect job for him. He's barely out of college himself, but he supposes that's why his dad chose him. He can relate to the newness of their situation. But Antonio wanted a position a little more substantial than "errand boy-babysitter." _It's like he doesn't take me seriously because I'm his son,_ he thinks. _Or maybe he takes me too seriously? How ever he takes me, I deserve better than this._

Antonio looks down at the smartwatch wrapped around his left wrist and touches the screen, pulling up a holographic version of his to-do list. And what a list it is. Tony didn't spare him a moment this afternoon, everything from relaying messages, to recalibrating the force field surrounding the Arc reactor in the basement, to re-modulating the interference frequencies on the StarkNet satellites.

He sighs. "He does realize I have a dinner to get to tonight, right?" _And a degree in engineering going unused,_ he mentally adds.

Antonio walks down a long hallway, away from the sounds of working engineers behind him as he heads for the elevator. If he were honest with his dad, he'd have asked for a job with his fellow engineers, working the day away tweaking and building and designing. You know, doing what he went to school for. But when he approached his dad after his little break-in incident last Saturday, Antonio was informed until can earn seniority, or until a real position opens, he'll be the official Intern Coordinator. Or, in unofficial terms, the babysitter. _Five months of running around Stark Tower like a crazy person for dad and this is the reward I get..._

Now in the elevator, he rubs at the knots on his stiff neck. Another night of working on his suit kept him awake until two or three a.m., in which his time was spent ironing out the kinks in his onboard software. When Antonio started designing and engineering his suit of armor, he had intended for Jarvis to be his on-board computer. But then he started messing around with an idea for a new A.I. program he thinks will be worth the added work. _Now, I just gotta come up with a decent name for her,_ he adds.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open to the 43rd level, real-estate, and land development. Stark Tower may seem like a maze from the outside and may be to some on the inside, but to the kid who grew up in the building, you're only a few button-clicks from where you need to be. And where he needs to be is wherever his mother is right now. Sometimes, searching for one Pepper in a 93-story building can be a daunting task, but she does seem to pop up when Antonio needs her. _Except for two days ago when I needed her to back me up when I asked dad for a position._

The young man combs his fingers upward through his spiky black hair as he walks, looking around the various offices for his mom. The open office floor has desks sprawled from end to end, busy feet shuffling all over the pale gray carpet. As he passes different employee's desks, his nose catches on different scents, food, air fresheners, and various colognes—enough to make him want to sneeze. Then, in the distance, he spots her. Standing with several other people who all seem to talk at once, Pepper hands out sheets of paper to her companions, pointing them in different directions as she returns to her desk in a glass-enclosed room. The people walk out of her office door as Antonio squeezes in, raising a brow at his mother.

"Hey Mom, wha—"

"Oh good, I'm glad you're here. What did your father say?" Pepper interrupts without even lifting her head.

"You knew I was coming with a message from Dad?" he asks, slightly confused.

"Sweetie, I know everything that goes on in this building. So, yes, I was expecting you," she answers with a knowing grin.

Antonio nods. "Fair enough. Dad's message is yes. You can go ahead. I recited it word for word, now is someone going to tell me what the heck is going on? Why is the real-estate department in such an upheaval?"

Pepper cuts her eyes at him, still grinning while he stands clueless. "It's just something we're working on with your sister."

"Ohhh, so what's Maria up to then?" he asks, leaning a hand on her desk.

"I can't divulge much because I don't know enough to divulge, but she said it'll be revolutionary."

Antonio glances down at the papers neatly stacked on the desk in front of her. His electric eyes scan the pages and he smirks when he reads the fine print. "What does Maria's revolutionary project have to do with property in the Salt Flats in Death Valley?"

"There's no secret keeping in this family, is there?" Pepper taps her finger impatiently at her son as he smiles at her, waiting for an explanation. She sighs exasperatedly. "Maria's project requires testing grounds, and we were planning to pick up some property there anyway."

"Oh, I see..." Antonio purses his lips, trying hard not to burst with a million questions. Pepper just rolls her eyes and begins scribbling on some of the papers spread across her desk. After a moment of writing signatures, she looks up to her son who's still standing at her desk.

"If that's all your father had to say?" she says, prompting him to leave.

"Oh, right. Sorry. I'm going now," Antonio says as he inches out the door. "Bye."

Now outside her office, Antonio takes in all the people scrambling around their office spaces and wonders what could be next on his to-do list. With a tap and a swipe, the list materializes in the air. He scrolls down until his electric eyes find the next item on the list, but when they do, he groans inwardly. _I guess I'm off to the reactor, then,_ he tells himself.

Antonio finds his way to the elevator that brought him here, and pushes a floor button that plummets him to the basement. If there's one job Antonio hates doing more than anything, it's fine-tuning the Arc Reactor that powers the entire building. He can't begin to count all the times he's burned his hands, arms, etcetera on the superheated metal rails surrounding the reactor. He remembers one time when he was down there with Tony as a kid, he was running circles around the catwalk when he tripped forward. Naturally, his initial reaction was to move his hands in front of him to break his fall, but before Tony knew what was happening, Antonio had burned his palms on the metal, the grate burning a pattern on his small hands. The memory forces the young man to rub his palms, his brain convincing him the marks are still there.

The elevator alerts Antonio he's reached the basement, and as soon as the doors open, a burst of hot air hits him. Immediately, beads of sweat begin to run down his forehead, and he unbuttons the top of his blue shirt, yanking at the collar of the white t-shirt underneath.

"Go ahead and fix the Reactor, Howie, will ya? It'll be easy," Antonio says in a mocking tone. "It's not like you have anything better to do, right?"

Antonio wipes his forehead and continues, climbing the steps of the catwalk to the main terminal centered at the top. Ironically, the screen is cool to the touch, and Antonio begins tapping away adjusting the settings, anger speeding up his fingers. His taps modulate the power flow input and aligns the energy output to match. He taps a little longer, wiping sweat from time to time. He keeps reminding himself that the sooner he gets finished, the sooner he can go home, change and actually enjoy himself with his friends. Dinner approaches fast, and the more he thinks about tonight and leaving for the day, the faster he works. The last task on his list is quickly completed and he gladly heads towards the exit, thinking about his dad with every step he takes.

He takes a few steps away from the console, his mind now considering ways to convince Tony to rethink his job placement. He gets a few steps down the catwalk when the grate beneath him shudders slightly. He steadies himself and waits. _That can't be good._ He looks back at the center console and tries to see if any if the onscreen gauges are redlining, but everything seems to stay still. Antonio shrugs it off and continues towards the elevator. Halfway down the catwalk, the whole room shakes and the heat from the reactor intensifies in a burst of bright light. Antonio stumbles to the side and grabs the railing for support, but he immediately regrets it. He pulls his hands back and shakes away the burn, then runs to the console at the top of the steps.

The screen is littered with alerts and messages warning of an overload. "What did I do?!" he questions.

It doesn't take him long to realizes that the input-output he just remodulated isn't properly aligned, which is causing too much energy to build up and no where for it to go. Antonio starts tapping and works to fix his mistake, hoping that the reactor takes its time overloading. He's close to the building-wide alarms triggering when he adjusts the power flow, and the dashboard on the console begins to level out, the flashing red alerts disappearing. The reactor core dims slightly and the basement drops ten degrees with it.

The room stills and Antonio sighs and slumps against the terminal. As if on cue, his watch lights up with a call from his father. _Here we go._

"Hey—" Antonio gets out before Tony interrupts him.

"You'll never guess what just happened to me. I was on my way to my office with an armful of important, perfectly ordered documents when the floor beneath me shook violently, and you can imagine what happened to my papers," Tony says. "Anything you'd like to tell me, Howie?"

"Well…I may have accidentally, slightly misaligned the input-output relays," he says, his voice getting smaller with every word.

"Antonio Howard Stark!" Tony yells. "You do realize any sort of misalignment could result in an overload, or worse…a complete system meltdown?"

Tony continues to go on about how dangerous the reactor is while Antonio blows cool air on his burns. "I know, and I'm sorry. I was just...I was a little distracted, but I fixed it, so it's okay now!"

"Distracted is not an option around the Reactor, Antonio." His father sighs heavily on the other end of the call. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah dad, I'm fine. Just got a little burned, no big deal." But the throbbing quickness of his palms says otherwise.

"Listen, why don't you go on home, treat your burns and rest before your dinner. You're finished with your list for today anyway," Tony offers.

Antonio blinks hard, considering all the things he'd like to say his father at this point. "Are you sure dad? I mean, I wouldn't want you to have to run your own errands," he says, his tone heavy with sarcasm.

Even after his comment, Tony keeps a level tone. "No, you go home. I'll be fine."

Antonio smirks and starts towards the elevator, keeping his hands up and away from the rails beside him. "Okay, Dad. If you _really_ want me to go."

"Just be ready for Monday morning and our meeting with the Banners," Tony says. Suddenly, Tony's voice changes like he's trying to pretend he's happy. "Have fun tonight, and tell James hello for me."

Antonio rolls his eyes. "Sure."

 **Corner of 1st and Collins Street, Midtown. 6:34 pm.**

Kassidy crosses the corners of the twelfth block she's walked so far. Finding a taxi or a bus with an empty space early evening in New York City is almost impossible, finding one in Midtown is impossible. But trying to find one in Midtown early evening on a Saturday? As the stereotypical New Yorkian would say, "Fo'get aboutit." So, she walks. And continues to walk and hope that the dark clouds hanging over the city wait until she's found the restaurant before they drop the rain they hold.

Kassidy wonders as she passes by hordes of people if she dressed properly for the occasion. She hopes skinny jeans, an embroidered blouse and flats is fancy enough. Antonio never said how to dress, just to come. And oddly enough, she could come because she was off and didn't have ten million classes lined up today. But a momentary lapse of emotion almost kept her from coming. Almost. The promise of seeing James and possibly having a fun, normal night out with her guys was enough for her to get dressed. Not to mention all of Antonio's "reminder" texts. She's determined to enjoy herself tonight, and hopefully find some answers to an intriguing mystery later, considering her new friend doesn't forget their date.

The young woman walks a little while longer, bumping a few people as she takes her aqua eyes off the sidewalk to look beside her at the shops she passes. She'd forgotten all the neat stores and mom-and-pop restaurants that make up Midtown's East Side. Seeing the products—clothes and hats and fresh baked goods—in the windows makes her realizes how little she's been out lately.

Kassidy silently awes at the shops as she goes, making a mental shopping list for when she has free time...and money. It doesn't take her long to find the Thai restaurant Antonio insisted they meet at. Of course, this was a place the three of them liked to eat when they felt fancy, and memories of dinners past surface in her mind as she pushes through the front door. Strong scents of spices and grilled foods fill her airways as an older gentleman greets her with a smile.

"I'm meeting some friends. I'm pretty sure the reservation is under Stark?" she says.

"Of course, right this way." The man leads her past the bar and some booths to a table with three chairs in the middle of the dining floor. Antonio sits in one of the chairs, his face too buried in the menu in front of him to notice her arrival.

"Hi," she simply says.

Antonio hesitantly looks up as if the food choices are a novel, and grins when he sees her. "Kassy! You came!" He throws down his menu and drags out the chair to his left for her, one that gives her a view of the windows across from the table. "Please, sit down."

She sits and the waiter asks for her drink order. Oddly enough the place has lemonade now, and Kassidy wonders how good lemonade from a Thai themed eatery can be. The waiter disappears with her order and leaves her alone with Antonio, who hasn't stopped smiling since she sat down.

"So," he says, propping his hands on the table and leaning forward into the conversation. "How are you?"

"I'm good. I had the day off, so that was nice." Kassidy's smile starts to even out to a peach colored line on her face while Antonio nods.

"That must've been a nice break for you," he says.

She nods. "It was." And this has concluded the small talk for the evening.

Kassidy looks down at her hands folded in her lap, examining the silver ring on her right ringfinger, and the pink and blue beaded bracelets hanging around her arm. She looks back up with the intent to ask Antonio how his day was when she notices a hue of blue on his palms and the way his hands are palm-up on the table's top.

"What happened to your hands?" she asks. The question catches the Stark slightly off guard.

"Oh, I-uh...I just burned them at work earlier. I was adjusting some things on the reactor, then one thing led to another and I grabbed some hot safety rails," he explains.

Kassidy nods and takes his hands in hers, scanning every inch of his injured palms. As soon as their skin touches, Antonio tenses up and a pale blush colors his cheeks. "I'll be gentle," she assures. "They don't look that bad."

"Yeah, I figured they weren't burned enough to wrap. But I did put enough of that blue cooling-aloe on them to treat third-degree burns," he chuckles. They smile at each other and both quickly pull their hands away.

Antonio glances down at the ivory table cloth, considering the extensive collection of questions he'd like to ask her. He sifts through the potentially awkward or unwanted conversation starters, and stays away from any comment that might buzz the mood, like asking advice about how to approach his dad about work. He weaves through trivial thoughts about the weather, her work, or life in general. Finally, he lands on a question he asked himself earlier, thinking it a good topic to discuss with Kassidy since nothing else was working.

"So, I've been working on a new project," he states.

Kassidy reacts with a tilted head, raising her brow. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I'm taking an idea my dad scrapped years ago for a new A.I. system. Kind of like Jarvis, but more like a Jarvis two-point-oh slash backup. She's turning out to be faster and more compatible with a greater spectrum of resources," he says, cleverly avoiding why he's creating a new A.I. That surprise will come when he finishes the armor.

"But isn't Jarvis updated, like, daily?" Kassidy asks.

Antonio thinks a moment. "Well…not daily. Weekly. But that's not the point. The point is this new A.I. will be in a whole other ball field, when she's finished, of course. The only trouble I've had is finding a decent name for her."

Kassidy makes a thoughtful "hm" and rests her chin in her palm, tapping the side of her face with her finger. "A girl A.I., huh? Well…what about Jeanie? Or maybe Josey?"

Her suggestions are met with consideration, contemplation, and dismissal. She tries a few more "J" names, but all of them seem to come up short of Antonio's taste. "Well, what about Jo? Or Jo-Jo? Or mix it up with something like Casey?"

Antonio laughs. "That sounds too much like your name."

Kassidy shrugs and gives up. "Then I have nothing else for you, other than suggesting you start combining names."

The young Stark furrows his brow, his electric eyes deep in thought. He tilts his head and stares ahead. Kassidy watches his moves, seeing her friend's thought process play out before her. After a minute or two of Antonio turning his head back and forth, and moving his gaze, he turns back to Kassidy with a goofy grin on his face. "Kassy, you're a genius."

"What did I say?"

"You just gave me the perfect idea for her name."

"I did?" she asks, surprised.

He smirks. "What do you think of Jocasta?"

Kassidy parts her lips to answer but a thunderous clap of lightning followed by a down pouring of rain outside forces her and Antonio to flinch.

"Wow, I didn't think it was actually gonna rain," she says, her aqua eyes focused out the windows.

Antonio looks down at his smartwatch for the time. "I hope James isn't far, otherwise he'll be dripping when he gets here."

About three streets up, James sits on his motorcycle at a red light, slowly becoming soaked to the bone. He huffs and readjusts the spangled helmet shielding his face from the hard raindrops. The blonde wonders why the storm couldn't wait until he arrived at the restaurant a minute up the street. At least he decided to wear a thick jacket, which is soaking up most of the water. His jeans on the other hand, well, they're slightly wet.

The young man taps his shoed-foot on the pavement as he waits for the traffic light to change. When the light finally does turn from red to green, the sudden burst of air from taking off hits him, and sends a chill up and down his spine. Natasha tried to warn him before he left the house that it would rain, and offered her car for him to drive. _But no, I just had to ignore her and take my bike. And now I'm going to catch a cold._ His mental complaints are set aside when he reaches the restaurant, and as he pulls up to the curb to park, the rain begins to lighten. James takes this chance to hop off his bike, secure his helmet and run inside. He stands in the entrance, dripping on the floor. The front of his pants and jacket took the brunt of the weather, but when he sheds his coat, his plaid button up underneath is dry. A host greets him and takes him to the table his friends have been waiting at.

As James approaches the table, both Kassidy and Antonio coming into view now, his heart races. Every doubt and anxiety rushes his mind, and he wonders if it's too late to turn around and go back home. _What if they don't recognize me? What if I've changed too much? Will they see what China did to me? Will they even know me?_ But when Kassidy lifts her eyes and sees him for the first time in over four years, her lips stretch into a toothy grin larger than he's ever seen before. Antonio looks at her, puzzled, then follows her gaze and starts smiling with her. James reaches their table, and the host departs, leaving him to decide how he wants this night to go. But the reaction of his friends is enough to soften his nerves.

Kassidy stands from her chair and steps in his direction. First, she's hesitant, regarding him curiously, scanning him completely before she looks in his dark, blueberry eyes. She stares for a moment that to James feels like forever as if searching for something in his eyes. He almost feels a bead of sweat pop up on his brow, wondering if she can see through his thinly veiled anxiety. But, likewise, James looks over every inch of her face to see what's changed. There's a certain light in her eyes, a spark of something he's sure wasn't there when he saw her last. But the visible tiredness on her face distracts anyone looking on her from the flame glowing in her eyes.

"Your hair," she says. "It's…longer."

"So is yours," he replies. She breaks into another smile and wraps her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. In return, he secures his arms around her back, squeezing her. Kassidy breathes out, relief covering her features as she pulls away, stepping back for Antonio.

"Forgive me if I don't shake your hand, but I had a little accident earlier and—" Antonio explains. The sudden cut off of James pulling him into a bear hug tells Antonio that he couldn't care less about him not shaking his hand. The guys part and James looks over Antonio as he did Kassidy. He notices firstly that those old bulky glasses no longer frame his face, but his own features dominate his appearance. His smile seems sincere like he's happy in life. His electric eyes are bright, and James can see a million ideas swirling in them.

"We missed you," Antonio says. He offers him the last seat at their table trio.

"I missed you guys too," he replies. James sits down, taking a quick glance around the room before he settles in his chair. He notices plenty of people eating and chatting in their own little worlds, and soon the waiter comes back with Kassidy and Antonio's drinks. The young Indian man asks James what he'll drink, but he ponders on the question. Simple, sure. But what is there to drink in America these days? He's been in China so long, all he can think of is water and yellow wine, but now that he's home and at a Thai restaurant, he's not sure. Kassidy whispers to him, obviously sensing his distress in deciding.

"I ordered lemonade," she says, winking at him. James offers her a small smile as thanks for her suggestion and tells the waiter he'd like lemon water. He looks back at her, her eyebrows arched.

"I decided I did want the lemon part, so thanks," he says.

Kassidy stifles a laugh and glances at Antonio, who's leaned back in his chair shaking his head. "So," he starts. "What have you been doing since you got home?"

James thinks on it, contemplating how to tell his curious friends that he's done nothing since he got home. "Not a lot, really. I've worked on my bike some, cleaned out my old room, and I'm about to replace a floor board outside the kitchen that's been driving me crazy."

"You're fixing that board? That's a relief," Kassidy says. "Every time I visit Aunt Nat, I step on that board and it makes me cringe every time."

"Just make sure you get the stain matched perfectly, or else that board will really bother your mom after it's replaced," Antonio adds with a smirk. Kassidy nods in agreement and James makes note, sticking it on the metaphorical fridge in his head.

"So, what have you two been doing the past four years? I feel silly asking such a question, but I'm so out of touch," James says. He folds his arms on the table in front of him, leaning in to what they might say. Kassidy and Antonio exchange glances, as if silently arguing over who would speak first. And as James watches, he can tell by the arch of Kassidy's brow and the smirk on her face that she is winning.

"Right," Antonio starts, focusing on James. "Well, I'm out of college. Graduated earlier this year with a Master of Electrical Engineering."

"Wow, that's great, Howie! I know you were preparing when I left, but I didn't realize you were through already." The young Rogers puts his focus on his friend for a while, listening to what Antonio has to say about college life at MIT and how he's working in his father's company now. And with every word that comes from his mouth, Antonio exudes a level of excitement for life. But there's something off in his eyes as he talks about what his father has planned for his future in the company, and James wonders how happy Antonio really is.

"Right now, I'm stuck overseeing the Interns. You know, babysitting," he says, a slight tone of resentment in his voice.

Kassidy whacks Antonio's arm with the back of her hand. "That's mean."

But the Stark just shrugs. "But Kassy over here actually has been babysitting."

James looks at her in disbelief, waiting expectantly for an explanation. Kassidy leans back in her chair, suppressing a bashful smile. "I'm not babysitting exactly. I teach Archery at the recreation center here in Midtown. I teach everyone from little kids to older adults. It's very rewarding, even if the pay isn't great."

"Wow," James shakes his head. "That's incredible. I never thought you'd be a teacher."

Kassidy laughs. "Neither did I. But three years ago, I went for an interview and apparently the activities director thought I was good enough to teach a class, so. Other than that—which consumes pretty much all of my time—I'm not doing much."

Antonio mutters something under his breath about her not having time, then looks off as if he never said anything. Kassidy sits up straight, narrowing her eyes at him. James notices the shift in the mood and the tension that's suddenly squashed their happy reunion. _Something is going on here,_ he tells himself. It's not long before the waiter returns with dinner orders and a big bowl of rice that he drops in the middle of the table for them to share with dinner—a Thai thing. The blonde tries to keep the conversation going with lighthearted questions, both his friends giving short answers.

"So, Kassy, how's Aunt Bobbie?" James asks, one more attempt to get her talking again.

"Mom's fine, she's visiting next week. I'm pretty excited to see her. It's been eight months since I saw her last," she says.

"Wow. Have you two ever gone that long without seeing each other?" James asks.

Kassidy shakes her head. "No. It's been kind of hard, but we're used to not being face to face anymore, so it's okay."

"And I thought Maria and I were few and far between," Antonio adds.

James sees an opening for interaction and capitalizes on it. "Yeah, how is that crazy sister of yours? What is she doing now?"

Antonio glances at his friends, obviously trying to find a way to describe her. "Well, she's overseeing the West Coast Branch of Stark Solutions now. And apparently, she's working on some big project no one has let me in on."

Kassidy stifles a laugh at Antonio's half-way pout. "Knowing your family, you'll figure it out soon enough."

"Mom said something similar to that phrase earlier. I'm actually considering just calling Maria and pestering her until she spills," Antonio laughs. And as he laughs, James smiles. Kassidy is talking to him now, and whatever tension there was has disappeared. The sound of all of them talking together, and laughing and poking fun is enough to drown out the sounds of everyone else in the building. The cheerful conversation makes James feel like it's just the three of them like it used to be. And for a moment, he forgets all about China, and the hard choices, and the pain that stole so many years from him. Right now, it's just him and his best friends. And as the waiter approaches, now with some food.

As the dinner bowls and chopsticks are being doled out, a loud buzz takes the boys eyes off the food and puts their attention on Kassidy, who cringes at the sound of her own phone vibrating. She sheepishly smiles at them and pulls her collapsed phone out of her pocket, and the center diamond button is flashing a dark orchid. She presses the button, and both James and Antonio watch her face as she reacts to whatever her phone is telling her.

Her aqua eyes, now hard and cold, look to her friends. "Guys, I'm so sorry, but David from work texted me, said there was a break in. I really need to go."

James and Antonio exchange glances, both looking to the other for what to say. "If you really need to go," James says.

"I really do. I'm so sorry guys." Kassidy stands from her chair and hugs both of them goodbye, but Antonio sits stiffly as she halfheartedly wraps her arms around him from the side. The young Stark watches her until she moves out of view, running down the sidewalk in the light rain still coming down. Once she's gone, he moves his eyes back to his food in front of him, staring at it like he's lost his appetite.

"Howie?" James says, trying to snap his friend back to reality. Antonio raises his head, offering his best fake smile, then starts chowing down. The whole situation just feels unusual—even though James isn't sure what "usual" is for his friends anymore. Kassidy suddenly leaving, Antonio being so tense, the awkward lull in their conversations. Then, it hits James. "You haven't told her, have you?"

Antonio almost chokes on his noodles. "What?"

"Howie," James starts, exasperation lacing his tone. "You promised me when I left that you were going to tell Kassidy how you felt about her before you went to college."

The Stark gets over his deer-in-the-headlights moment and swallows hard, sipping some of his herbal tea. "Well, the thing is…things got complicated, okay!"

"Complicated, huh?" James grips the bridge of his nose, mentally attempting to put himself in his friend's shoes. "So, how exactly did things get complicated?"

Antonio glances around the room, landing his eyes on every other person eating. His electric gaze stops on his food and he sighs in defeat. "So maybe things didn't get complicated…maybe I chickened out. But, in my defense, Kassy was going through a lot at the time. What with her mom going back to S.H.I.E.L.D. and everything. I guess I didn't want to add any extra pressure on her. Besides, I was getting ready to move for college and I just got busy."

"I get that. But that doesn't explain what's going on right now. Why are you two so…out of sync?" James asks, poking at his food with a chopstick.

Antonio shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. Ever since I got home from college in April, she's been acting weird. We've barely spoken, she never answers my calls or texts, she's constantly blowing me off. She hasn't even been to my house in four months, James. Four months. I just…I'm worried she's in some kind of trouble, you know?"

"If Kassy is in any trouble, I'm positive she'd tell you," James reasons. "Maybe she's just going through some stuff."

"But wouldn't she tell me? She came over to the Tower a few nights ago and we talked, I thought we'd come to an understanding but I just don't know. Something is wrong with her, but she just won't tell me what it is," Antonio says, twirling his noodles with his fork around the bowl. James furrows his brow, watching Antonio run a hand through his spiky black mop. He can tell by the look on his friend's face that he's mentally second guessing everything. "Maybe you can talk to her?" Antonio asks. "She listens to you."

"I can try, but if she's not telling you anything, don't bank on her spilling her guts to me."

The rest of their meal is eaten in silence, one or the other occasionally asking a question or making a comment. James looks over to Antonio every so often, and when their eyes lock, both know they're thinking the same thing. This dinner did not go as planned.

 **East 111th Street, East Harlem. 9:25 pm.**

Kassidy runs as fast as possible to make it to the gas station that was robbed the other night—or not robbed? She was still a little confused about that part. She'd programmed her police scanner to alert her if an alarm went off in the area in hopes of finding a criminal to interrogate on the mysterious strong man that threw her new friend into a counter. She only hopes she's not too late to catch whoever tripped the silent alarm at the diner down the street from the station.

Kassidy's canvas shoes land hard on the gravel roof of an apartment building directly across from the diner in question. She touches the side of her goggles and readjusts the sights to zoom in, hoping to see what's going on down there. But everything looks quiet.

"Huh," she grunts. The young hero chews the inside of her cheek as she watches closely, waiting for something, anything, to happen. But the only thing that moves is a stray cat running from behind the diner.

"Whatcha looking at?" a voice comes from beside her, almost startling her off the ledge she's perched on. She swings her bow down and sweeps it under the body her, pinning him to the ground. "Hey, hey it's just me! It's Marvel!"

Kassidy looks down at the man she has pinned to the roof and tries hard not to laugh at his terrified expression. Laying there, with his hands raised to the sky in defense, his emerald eyes wild under his black mask. "I'm so sorry! I didn't realize it was you."

"Obviously." She pulls her bow away, draping it across her chest. Kassidy offers him a hand and pulls him up off the roof. Mr. Marvel dusts off his leather jacket and jeans, smirking at her. "And before you ask, I'm the one who set off the alarm. I couldn't think of any other way to contact you."

Kassidy narrows her eyes curiously. "You set off a restaurant's alarm to get my attention?"

"It's fine, I know the owners, they'll just think it's a glitch in the security system," Marvel explains.

Kassidy shakes off his statement, trying not to think about it too long. "So, why did you need to contact me early anyway?"

"Because the yellow tape is gone. The police pulled out this afternoon."

Kassidy arches her brows. "So soon?"

"Yeah. I guess because they caught the perp, they figured it was a case closed. Besides, they can't really charge him with theft because he didn't steal anything," Marvel explains.

"But they can charge him with Breaking and Entering," Kassidy counters, concern now in her tone.

"He didn't have a weapon on him, so that's not enough to keep him long. And from the things I've been hearing around town, I don't think he was working alone. I've gotten reports from local shop owners about super strong guys robbing them and making off with a lot of money," Marvel says.

 _What have I gotten myself into_ , she thinks, rubbing her temples as she contemplates what to do. "Well, we better get a head start then. I'm sure the police picked the place clean, but if the guy was looking for something specific…"

"Maybe they didn't find it," he finishes. Mr. Marvel absorbs himself in a halo of bright green, and he lifts his body into the air, gently landing on the street below. Kassidy rolls her eyes at her friend the glow-stick and climbs down the fire escape on the side of the building. She walks around to meet him, and the two sneak their way to the gas station on the corner of 2nd Street and East 111th.

And just like he said, the police tape is gone. The canopied gas pumps are lit up once more, and the broken glass on the front door has been replaced. The two vigilantes walk around the back between the convenient store and the service station to jimmy open the back door, but Marvel stops Kassidy in her place.

"What about the security cameras?" he asks. "Do you think they've replaced them yet?"

Kassidy shakes her head at herself for not thinking of that. She peeks around the corner of the building and scans the area above the back door, her eyes catching on the old, bulky camera drooping, frozen in place. She looks in closer for the tiny red light that will blink if it's on, but no such light is found. _No security, free investigating,_ she thinks with a smirk. Kassidy turns her head back to her partner and motions for him to follow her to the door. She squats down eye-level with the doorknob and deadbolt and pulls a hair pin out of her hoodie pocket.

"Wait," Marvel starts. "You know how to pick a lock with a bobbi-pin?" His bright green eyes swirl with amazement as Kassidy smiles up at him. She sticks the long silver pin in the lock and starts rotating it. She twists the pin while she leans close to the lock, listening for the click that means it's open. The click finally comes, and she does the same to the lock on the handle. The doorknob clicks and a smirk spreads across her lips as she turns the knob and pushes the door open. Marvel looks down at her with a blank expression. "I don't know if I'm impressed or concerned."

"Come on," she says. The two vigilantes slip in the door, not expecting anything specific to jump out as they walk around. Kassidy notices that the place has been cleaned, broken glass from the door swept up, the counter Mr. Marvel was thrown into has been replaced, but the crater in the concrete floor is still there _. I wonder how the police felt about that?_ She kneels beside the punch-mark and pulls her hood back, brushing her fingers over the broken concrete. Marvel joins her and rubs his stomach as he stares down at the hole.

Kassidy looks up at him, watching his expression change from disdain to regret to anger then to concern. "How is your injury? You didn't have any cracked ribs, did you?"

"Nah, just bruised ones. I'm fine though," he smiles, locking eyes with her. She nods and stands, moving towards the lottery counter where they found the guy.

At a first glance, the cabinets underneath the lottery counter don't look special, the shelves hold nothing of value, and Kassidy wonders if maybe whatever the guy was searching for wasn't where he thought it was…which makes her wonder, where did he think it was? Across from her, Marvel searches through the shelves and drawers of the main checkout counter, finding nothing. "I don't know, maybe the police found what he was looking for and it's being investigated," he says, propping his hands on his hips.

The exasperation in her friend's voice tells Kassidy to keep looking, even if it seems pointless. "Even so, my contact in the force would have mentioned something to me. Let's just keep looking for—" she stops herself.

"What?" Marvel asks.

Kassidy stills and listens, hoping the noise she just heard was an animal and not a person. But a shuffle of feet sounds and Kassidy darts her eyes to her friend. "We need to hide, now."

The two rush towards the back of the store, hoping to hide in the public bathroom, but the door is locked, so is the manager's office and the entrance to the storage room. They frantically search as the backdoorknob shudders, and someone tries to come in. Only one door is left—the door to the supply closet—and Marvel turns the handle. The door opens and the two squeeze in, closing it and locking it from the inside. A crash sounds as the backdoor flies open and slams against the wall. Kassidy's breath hitches in her throat and she listens for what follows.

In the darkness and tight quarters, she looks up at Marvel, who has his attention directed towards the layered grate at the bottom of the door, leaking light. The closet stills and two voices carry through the convenient store.

"Wow, the CSI wiped this place clean," comes the first voice, scratchy and shrill.

The second voice, much deeper and with a harsh New York accent scoffs at the other. "Of course they did, it's their job." The voices quiet as footfalls land in different places in the store, all sounds localizing around the front counters, where the man several nights ago had been.

"Do you think Saieed will stay in jail, or do you think the boss will...you know, kill him?" shrill asks, bumping around and slamming cabinet doors.

"My money is on him gettin' axed before he gets comfortable in prison. Besides, all the guys know this whole screw up was his fault. If he'd just reported in when he was sposta, he wouldna had to break in for the pickup," says dark and brooding, emphasizing his made-up words.

Kassidy leans closer to the door, hoping to get a better grasp on what they're saying without falling forward on Marvel. Her friend looks down at her after she moves, probably noticing the closeness of the situation for the first time since shoving himself in here. Even in the dark with a tiny bit of light shining through, Kassidy can see the soft blush forming on her partner's cheeks. He's trying hard not to look at her and focus on the space between them, but the pained expression on his face forces Kassidy to smirk. This isn't an ideal situation for two people who hardly know each other, but they'll have to learn some time.

The two men outside continue to ransack the place for a good five minutes looking for the same thing the other guy was. As Kassidy starts to relax a little against the door frame, suddenly the men start talking again. "Wait a minute, Jed," says Mr. Shrill. "The drop-off guy works here, doesn't he? So maybe the Amp is in the employee room or the manager's office?"

 _ _Amp__ _?_ Kassidy mouths to Marvel, but he just shrugs his shoulders and they turn back to the conversation outside the closet.

Jed apparently—cackles, then his voice turns serious. "Now why didn't I think of that." A loud slap, like the sound of skin meeting skin, makes Kassidy jump. Marvel touches her shoulder, assuring her with a nod that it's okay. But the sound of the men's feet clomping this way forces her breathing to pick up. The manager's office door is right beside the door to the supply closet, and if she or Marvel make one false move or sound, they'll probably die. That is if these two are just as strong as the last one. And from the sound of the back door slamming into the wall behind it, Kassidy's best guess is they are. Marvel must feel the weight of the situation too because he gently slips his hand over the doorknob to secure it.

Fists bang on the office door and one of the men shakes the handle, but the door is locked. "Why don't you just bust it down?" Shrill asks.

Jed huffs. "The Amp is wearing off, Otto...I don't have much strength left."

"Well, I've been off the stuff for two weeks, at least your last dose was a week ago," Otto says.

"And we'll both be off it permanently unless we find this missing shipment," Jed replies. A few more pounds against the metal office door and the two give up.

"Well maybe we should go check at the police station?" Otto asks as a last attempt. "If they did find it, then maybe it's in an evidence locker or somethin'?"

Another slap echoes and a grunt follows as the two men walk back into the main area of the store. As soon as they're away from the supply closet, Kassidy's phone starts vibrating uncontrollably. Both of the vigilante's eyes widen, and Kassidy fumbles to cut it off.

"Otto, you hear that?" Jed asks. Their feet stop moving while Marvel's grip on the doorknob tightens.

"Turn it off!" he whispers.

"I'm trying," she says. She finally gets her hands on her phone and presses the center button, silencing the vibrating. An unnerving quiet floods the split second after the phone stops, and Kassidy's heart stops beating. The two heroes stare at each other and wait for the men outside to find them, but no sound of feet come their way.

"I don't hear nothing, Jed," Otto says. Obviously, Otto's comment was enough to convince Jed to go ahead and leave the scene. Within a few seconds, the two men clear out and Kassidy breathes out for the first time in what seems like forever.

She laughs weakly as Marvel unlocks the door, allowing them to spill out of the tight space. Kassidy's knees are stiff from standing in place so long, and Marvel asks if she's okay. "I'm fine," she answers. "I've been in some tight spaces before, but this is my first time hiding out in a broom closet."

Her partner laughs. _He has a great laugh,_ she thinks. "Well, it was a first for me too. But what I wanna know is why your phone went off?"

Kassidy blinks hard. She didn't even look at her phone to see who was calling her. She pulls her phone out, twisting her ponytail between her fingers as she looks at her screen. It was James. He called her but didn't leave a message. Kassidy furrows her brow in thought, wondering why he called.

"Was it an emergency?" Marvel asks. They look at each other for a moment as he waits for an answer. She begins to smile.

"It was nothing important. But I think our new friends Jed and Otto had the right idea about checking with the police. I have someone I can call, and I'll see if some kind of liquid referred to as 'Amp' was recovered from the scene," she says. They walk to the front and look around, scanning the mess the men made behind the counters.

"Wait, just so we're on the same page here," Marvel starts, scratching his head. "We are talking about asking someone to hack the NYPD's system to bring up confidential case files and evidence entry?" She looks back at her friend, offering a shrug as her only reply. Marvel shakes his head and grins. "You know someone for everything don't you?"

Kassidy nods. "I try to stay connected." She pulls her hood back over her head and starts towards the back door, but her partner calls her.

"Hey, before you go," he starts, rummaging through his jacket pocket. He pulls out a slip of paper with writing on it- numbers. "Instead of setting off alarms to contact each other, you can call this number to get in touch with me."

Kassidy eyes the tiny piece of paper. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Don't worry, it's not my personal number. It's just one you can call me on if you need some back up, or if you figure out the next piece of the puzzle." Marvel's inviting smile somehow settles all the concerns rolling around in her head. Somehow, she knows she can trust him. She's never felt like that about another hero.

"Okay, Marvel. I'll give you a call soon. Just don't leave the country or anything," she jokes. Marvel's laugh echoes in her mind as she finds a roof to climb onto and starts towards her apartment. But halfway there she stops, landing on a thrift store's roof.

Kassidy pulls out her phone, her mind wrestling with her conscience. She wants to call James, ask what he needed this late at night, but for some reason, she can't stop thinking about when she called her mother earlier in the day. She wanted so badly to tell her, someone, what was going on with her, and she has a bad feeling James is picking up on it. She shakes her head, hoping to rattle her resolve back into submission, but loneliness drags at her heels, slowing her down and preventing her from hopping to the next building. _Something has to give_ , she reminds herself. Kassidy stops on the ledge, shoving her phone back in her pocket as she drops her head. She sighs hard, squeezing her eyes shut. She can't go home. She can't get up tomorrow, one more day, knowing she'll end up back on the roof tops, doing this alone.

So, she starts off for Brooklyn.

 **Rogers' House. 11:17 pm.**

Normally, at eleven at night, most people are in bed. The lights get turned off, the doors get locked, and people go to sleep. Normally. But James has never been much for normal. Normal gets thrown out the window in the military, and whatever your branch says is normal is normal for you. James learned the hard way in China. So, instead of teaching him that normal was going to sleep when night fell, they told him that night was a time for moving from place to place, allowing the cover darkness gave to shield you from enemy eyes. Night was a time for work. And why sleep when there's a squeaky board outside the kitchen that needs replacing?

James stands in his mom's garage with a one by four stretched across a worktable and several sheets of sandpaper, sanding it down to be stained. He rubs the paper in hard strokes against the wood, from one end to the other. All the pressure he can manage is pushed down the board to make it soft and smooth. The thought of walking into the kitchen and not hearing that nerve-killing squeal will be the most productive thing he's done since being home. And doing something productive is better than lying in bed—or on the floor—being unproductive. James scrapes at the board a few more times before running his hand on the surface, the smoothness of it making him grin. He turns the board on its side to sand the edges down when he stops, a noise catching his attention. He hears a sound like shoes scrubbing against the concrete driveway.

James turns his head towards the half open garage door he left open for a breeze and sees a set of canvas shoes, still and unmoving. He reaches for something to use as a weapon when the body attached to the shoes crouches down and under the metal door. To James' surprise, it's a familiar face.

"Hi." Kassidy stands before him with goggles hanging around her neck, her golden hair tied back, and clad in purple and gray athletic clothes. A strap across her chest is connected to a cloth quiver on her back, and she holds a silver bow in her hand. James looks her up and down, trying to figure what to make of her. "I got your call," she says. "I was in the middle of something at the time."

James crosses his arms over his chest and stares at her, from her outfit to her goggles to the ashamed haze in her aquamarine eyes. "Do I want to know? Wait, better yet, let me take a wild guess." Kassidy drops her eyes to the floor and twists her shoed-in toes on the concrete, glancing around at everything but her friend. "Going by your clothes, and the fact that you have your father's bow with you—"

"Okay, you can stop," she interjects. Kassidy lifts her eyes to meet James' dark and concerned gaze. She pushes out a breath and slings her bow over her head, allowing it to rest across her body. "Yes, I am…I am a vigilante. I've been one for the past three years."

"Three years?" James asks, his tone shocked but not too shocked. "I assume Antonio doesn't know?"

Kassidy laughs. "Are you crazy? If he knew what I've been doing he'd have a heart-attack."

"And what have you been doing?" he wonders aloud. Kassidy stares him down, and he can tell by the expression on her tired features that this is hard for her. Every idea of explanation that comes to her is tossed and turn in her mind, fighting every urge telling her to keep her mouth shut. Because why blow the most important secret you've been keeping closely guarded the past three years? But it was too late. She'd already told him. So why not tell him the rest?

"My phone went off at dinner because a friend of mine was trying to contact me. James," she pauses, hoping she can put in to words the feeling she's had. "We've stumbled on to something big, I feel it in my gut. And as much as I want to tell Antonio everything, it's just too dangerous." James opens his mouth to say something, but Kassidy stops him. "I know you know how to take care of yourself, you're a soldier for crying out loud. But Howie? I know if I tell him what I'm doing he'd either hate me or want to help me."

"And what's wrong with him wanting to help you? Kassy, he's a lot stronger than you give him credit for. And he's worried about you, we all are. When I came home, I expected my two best friends in this world to be closer than ever, but instead, I come home to the two of you struggling to carry on a decent conversation!" His voice rises with his concern. Kassidy tries to tame him, warning that his volume might wake Natasha. "She's probably already awake and listening to us anyway. The point is, Kassy, Antonio thinks that something is seriously wrong with you."

"He said that?" she asks.

"After you left the restaurant. He ran down his list of concerns and possible reasons for your distancing from him," James says.

Kassidy smirks. "That sounds like him. But I did it for a reason. I was in a bad place when Mom left, then you and then Antonio…I just didn't know what to do with myself. So, I did something I knew I'd be good at, and it's worked out for this city."

"But is this city more important than your relationships?" James asks.

The question reverberates through Kassidy's mind. Was it? Was leaving her friends—her _family_ —behind in the dust of her heroism more important than telling them the truth? Was keeping her other life secret more important than letting her family into her world? But the most important question of all…was she willing to give up those relationships entirely to fuel a passion that might kill her?

"I know why you're doing it Kassy, you don't have to explain it to me. But Antonio is a little less in tune with things like that. He takes words at face value, he trusts people. And he trusts you," he says, rubbing the sleep from his face. "You can't keep shutting him out anymore."

 _I knew I should've stayed in bed this morning,_ she thinks. Kassidy knew this was coming. She's been dreading it for months. And somehow, she knew today would be her last day as the only keeper of her secret. It was just one of those feelings. A gut feeling. "What am I supposed to say to him?" she asks, her voice cracking under the weight on her chest.

James looks at her with a sympathetic smile, a small, comforting smile, the kind only he can give her. He can see the tear in her veil, a crack in the glass walls that surround her emotions. Kassidy has always been see-through to James, like a clean window. He motions for her to come closer to him, and he takes her hands in his, squeezing them. Supportively, he grins, one bigger than before, and she tries to return it, but the upturned frown she offers is fleeting.

"You don't have to say anything special, but if you don't say anything at all, you're going to push him away," he reasons. She nods in agreement, thinking hard about the decision. "If you want me too, I'll call Antonio and we can all have lunch Monday afternoon."

"I have some classes in the afternoon, but they don't start until two-thirty."

"Then we'll do it around noon. I'll make myself scarce after we eat, and you can talk to him then. But," he pauses, making sure she's listening. "You have to promise me that you will tell him. No backing out, no cold feet."

Kassidy hesitantly nods. "I'll do my best."

James smiles. "That's all I ask for." He pulls her into a tight hug and she rests her chin on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I'm so much trouble. I didn't want you to come home and have to fix everything…but I guess I have a hard time when no one's pushing me," she admits with a weak chuckle.

James waves it off as they part. If he were honest with her, he'd admit that he was happy that they need him, that they haven't noticed a change in him. Or at least, they don't act like they do. He was so afraid he would come back to a home he wouldn't have a place in, to friends that didn't want him because of what he's become, but Kassidy and Antonio don't know what he's become. And after convincing Kassidy to reveal her secrets, he only hopes he can keep his.

"So, are you going to go all the way back to midtown tonight?" James asks, passively asking if she'd like to stay for the night. He starts tidying up his workspace, putting tools away for the night and storing his board under the worktable.

Kassidy shoves her hands in her hoodie pocket. "Yeah, my adult senior classes start at nine sharp in the morning, and it's late enough already. But thanks anyway," she winks. James nods and they walk towards the garage door. He lifts the door and the metal rolls up above their heads as she pulls her hood on, slipping her orange goggles over her eyes. "I'll see you Monday…and thanks for everything." She kisses him on the cheek before she heads out.

James smiles at her as she goes, hoping that this resolve of hers sticks around long enough to tell Antonio the truth. He waves as she starts running in the bridge's direction. He walks back in the garage and closees the door behind him, locking it down for the night. Before he can get to the door that leads inside, his mother opens it and pops her head out.

"I knew something was up with Kas—" she starts.

James cuts her off with a deathly glare. "Mom, can we not?"

* * *

 **A/N:** "Mom, can we not?" xD Hahaha, oh James. So? Enjoy this chapter? You'll love the next chapter, because everything is finally coming together. Are you ready? I know I am. Be prepared, because Destiny is coming. P.S. Bonus points to whoever caught the Steven Universe reference in this chapter! Also, I think it's safe to say that these chapter will be posted on a monthly/bi-monthly basis. Simply because it takes a while to write, edit and perfect. So expect that.

 **Up Next:** Destiny, Part 1.

Hey I just posted this...and this is crazy...but since you've read it...review it maybe?


	10. Chapter 9: Destiny Part 1

**A/N:** HELLOOOOOOOOO. Yes, this is a month late. Yes, I understand you're upset. And I have plenty of reasons why it took so long, but you didn't click this to read my apologies, you came to read. So...read. Read on and hate me because it's a cliffhanger. *Spoiler* Sorry. Thanks to my betas for being so flippin' awesome.

 **Disclaimer:** We know, we know! Marvel, not mine. Original stuff, yes mine.

* * *

 **118** **th** **street, Harlem, New York. Monday, September 15** **th** **, 2042. 8:08 am.**

The neon red numbers of Blake's bedside alarm clock mock him. Just ticking by, one number at a time without any consideration for his feelings. His alarm is still set to go off in twenty-two minutes, but he's known that since he woke up an hour ago. He just couldn't sleep. Not when there's so much to think about.

 _What if the admissions counselor thinks I won't do well, and I have to wait to go to City College next year?_ Blake wonders, burying his face in his blanket. _What if we can't get his Med Corp. situation worked out? I mean, if Mr. Stark has to cover our medical supplies, Dad will probably try to scrape by with as little help as possible, which could end up being an underprepared trip...which doesn't even matter if he decides to stay home with me for a while! Ugh. Why does everything have to be so worry-worthy? At least I can count on Antonio liking his gift. I think. Wait...where is Antonio's gift?_

Blake uncovers and sits up in his bed. He hasn't thought about his friend's gift since he got home and hasn't seen his backpack either, now that he thinks about it. He gets up, his feet hitting the cold hardwood floor. His amber eyes take a quick scan of the room but his orange backpack isn't anywhere in near sight. _I know it's here, it has to be here, I have to find it now!_ The teen kneels to the floor and searches under his bed in hopes of finding his orange backpack. _I know I brought it home from London, or did I? No, no, no...I totally did. The question is, what did I do with it when I got home?_

Blake's amber eyes land on dust bunnies and a storage container full of hats, but nothing else under the bed. He sits up, scanning the loft around him. Ole' orange would normally be hanging on the back of his desk chair, or it might be sitting over on the bench under the tiny window across the room. It even hangs in the closet from time to time, but he hasn't found it in any of those places. _I have to find it before we leave for Stark Tower,_ he reminds himself. Tucked away somewhere in his bag is a gift for Antonio, something he brought back from India.

When Blake first met Antonio Stark, they didn't get along well because of their age-gap. But after asking the Stark a million questions about himself they realized how much they had in common—their love of science, their affinity for bright colors and cool shoes and their hobby of trying strange foods. So, Blake established a tradition between the two. On every trip, Blake brings back some sort of food from wherever he's been, whether it be an edible bug or a native fruit preserve. And he's sure Antonio will like the Curry Kulcha he brought back...but there's a good chance it's spoiled by now, considering Blake has been missing his backpack since he got home.

 _Maybe I should ask Dad if he's seen it?_ he thinks. _But then again, Dad may still be asleep..._

Blake considers the options. He could wait until his father emerges from his room, he could continue bumping around with no luck in finding his backpack, or, he could go downstairs and just ask his dad. Blake stands from the floor and walks towards the stairs, creeping down each step. He fights to urge to jump off the second to last step and reaches the bottom. The teen, still in his jammies, stalks up to Bruce's door and reaches for the handle. He cracks the door open, expecting the see his father still in bed, but instead sees Bruce standing on his hands with his feet up in the air.

He looks relatively relaxed, his legs hang loosely, moving an inch every so often to keep his balance. Suddenly, Bruce drops his feet back to the floor, his body now in a bent over position. He rises, his eyes closed as he releases a huff of air. Blake closes the door back and decides to knock like a decent human. He bumps his knuckles on the door. A moment passes as feet shuffle across the carpet on the other side and Bruce pulls the door open.

"Good morning," he says, exiting his room.

"Hi Dad," Blake says. He follows his father into the kitchen. "How was yoga?"

"Alleviating." Bruce opens the fridge and drags out a bottle of something green and starts chugging it.

"Cool, so Dad...you haven't happened to have seen my backpack anywhere, have you? I kinda haven't seen it since I got home. You know, with us being so busy and all," Blake says.

Bruce holds up a finger, asking for a second while he finishes his green juice. After he's consumed it all, he makes a face that says it's not the most delicious thing he's ever tasted and answers.

"It's been missing since we got home and you've just started looking for it?"

Blake shrugs sheepishly. "I didn't really need it until I thought about Antonio's Curry Kulcha and then I realized it was probably spoiled and I need to find it before ants do."

Bruce simply shakes his head in amazement. "Have you checked the living room?"

Blake nods.

"And my room, the bathroom and the office."

"What about the basement?" Bruce asks.

"Well," Blake starts, dragging out the word. "I didn't know if I was allowed in the basement yet. I know the samples are down there and I didn't want to contaminate them." Bruce turns towards the basement that connects to the kitchen, the Cherrywood door right beside the fridge. He walks down the steps and disappears for a while, making plenty of noise like shuffling on concrete. In a moment, he arrives back in the kitchen with ole orange's straps in hand.

"How'd that get there?" Blake weakly chuckles. Then the smell of moldy bread with an underlying tone of curry hits him. Bruce's honey eyes weigh on the teen and he knows he's either in trouble or was going to be if the backpack had sat down there one more day.

Bruce stops beside Blake on his way back to his room.

"You might want to clean that out." He pats Blake's shoulder and walks away. The teen wrinkles his nose and drops the pack on the kitchen island, staring at it with disappointment in his eyes. His father's voice beckons him from his mourning. "Do you want to get some breakfast somewhere?" Blake looks towards his dad's room, then back at his backpack.

"Actually, Dad, I don't have much of an appetite."

 **Stark Tower, Midtown. 9:00 am.**

 _Six chocolates, three jelly-filled, and three plain bagels,_ Antonio reads the receipt on the elevator ride up to Tony's office. He was summoned early this morning to help prepare for the meeting with the Banners and was then immediately turned around and sent to purchase breakfast snacks. The chocolate is for him and Blake, the jelly-filled for his father, and the plain bagels for Mr. Banner. _Because only someone like him would eat a plain bagel straight up._ The elevator drops the young Stark on the 92nd floor. He shoves the receipt in his pocket and adjusts the knot of his black and white checkered tie.

Antonio enters his father's office to see Tony standing at his desk, looming over a row of file folders spread out. He glances up at Antonio but doesn't acknowledge him until he looks at him one more time.

"Hey! Got the goods?" he asks.

Antonio rolls his electric eyes. "Yeah, Dad. I got the 'goods.'"

"Good, then I need you to come look at these files and make sure I'm not missing anything." Tony walks around and grabs his son's shoulders, steering him behind the desk. He eyes the variety of files, each labeled with different contents, but all concerning the Banners missions. Each holding all the transactions and receipts of every year's trips, all except…

"Dad, you forgot last year's."

Tony groans and scratches his thin beard. "I knew I was missing one. I guess I'm a little out of it without your mother."

"Wait, where's Mom?" Antonio asks.

Tony fiddles with the files, sliding them together. "She flew to California yesterday to visit Maria…she didn't tell you?"

"No. She conveniently left that out when we talked Saturday night," Antonio says. He drops the box of breakfast on a table against the wall, next to the coffee maker. _Why wouldn't she tell me she was leaving the state? Unless…_

Antonio's eyes lock on his father's every move. Going off Tony's preoccupied glances and lack of prolonged eye contact, he and Pepper had a disagreement. Or just a straight up fight. _I hope they weren't fighting over me._ Antonio is aware that his mother has been on his side of the argument for a job. He just hopes that Pepper being in California isn't her way of making he and Tony "talk things out." She's not above locking them in a room together to work out their problems, and leaving the two of them like this is the equivalent. So, Antonio has been a little ticked at his dad lately…well, more than a little. He's slightly annoyed. And by slightly, I mean completely and utterly vexed by the fact his dad is taking advantage of him…

 _But, that doesn't warrant this, does it?_ he asks himself. _Okay, maybe we do need to talk things out._

Antonio sucks up his pride, locks it away in the fifteen-drawer file cabinet he keeps in his head and musters up enough self-respect to ask his father again about a job. _Maybe if I catch him while Mom's not here, he'll be less focused on what I'm saying and just agree with me,_ he thinks as he meets Tony halfway to the door. "Dad, can we talk?"

"I need to go get that other file from my cabinet room, so can it wait a minute?"

Antonio fights the urge to agree to wait. "No. All I need is five minutes."

Tony glances at his son, then casts his eyes across the hall, sighs and looks down at his watch. "You have four minutes fifty-eight, fifty-seven…"

"Okay," he pauses, breathing in. "I want you to be honest with me and tell me why you won't give me a real position."

Tony stares blankly at Antonio. "I don't have time for this."

He starts to walk out but Antonio grabs his arm and stops him. "Dad, wait! Please. Just…just tell me why? Is it because of the Vault incident? Is it because you don't want to show favoritism or something? I know it's not because we don't have job openings."

"You looked at the employee roll? That's a private list for management only, Howie," Tony says. His tone reaches an audible boiling point, but Antonio isn't done yet.

"Yeah, Dad, I looked. I saw that there were at least four jobs available that I'd be great at. Any of the rest on the list I could be at least good at," he stops. The words he wants to say won't form in his mouth and Tony's amber-eyed glare isn't helping. Antonio sighs, his shoulders sink and he drops his head.

"You've always trusted me, believed in my ideas and pushed me forward. Now suddenly, I'm not reliable enough to be given a real job? I've been working for this all my life, Dad…you know that. I know I have to earn my place and I will do whatever it takes to do that, but running errands all day under a fake title isn't getting me anywhere! I thought I would start at an entry-level position, but no, you made up a job for me and made me feel like a joke." Antonio pauses as the rest comes slowly. "I know I did something stupid, but that was one curiosity-fueled infraction compared to a life of living by your rules. I just...I just wanted to work for you. Do something on my own to make you proud."

"Howie…" Tony stands stiffly, his lips parted as if wanting to speak but not knowing what to say. His hard expression softens to a sympathetic understanding. He rests a hand on his son's shoulder and the Starks lock eyes. "We'll talk about this after the meeting, okay?"

Antonio hesitates to agree but doesn't see an alternative. "Yeah, sure."

Tony offers a small smile and squeezes Antonio's shoulder before walking out of the office and across the hall.

 _What's another couple of hours to the rest of my career?_

 **Rogers' House, Brooklyn. 9:07 am.**

"53, 54, 55," James breathes in between push-ups. A week back home and he's already allowed himself to sleep till eight—the thought of it bothers him. So, for the past hour, he's been working out. Everything from pull-ups to one-handed push-ups, alternating hands midair, all the things he did when he was in the Guard. If there's one thing being a soldier taught him, it was to always be prepared physically. And he didn't have much else to do this time of morning. But the silence in his room is broken when he hears Natasha yell from down the hall.

"I found it!"

James stands up and wipes the sweat from his face. He opens his bedroom door and looks down the hallway in both directions. "Found what?" he says, hoping his mother's next words will direct him to her location.

"The thing I've been looking for all weekend, what else?" her voice comes from the laundry room.

James rolls his dark blue eyes and grabs a t-shirt off his bed, slipping it over his head. He leaves his bedroom and meets his mom in the laundry room as she climbs down the attic ladder, holding something brown draped over her arm close to her body. James offers his arms to help her down, but she lands on the concrete floor without his assistance. He shrugs it off and asks what she's holding.

She smiles wide and holds out her prize triumphantly. "I wanted to give it to you when you came home as a gift, but the war ended so suddenly, and I didn't have the time to look for it," she says, offering him her find.

Draped over her arms is a brown leather jacket—Steve's brown leather jacket. With an Allies' patch from WWII on one arm and a silver Avenger's patch proudly on the other, the worn overcoat is soft to the touch and smells like vanilla and freedom. James takes the jacket in his hands, handling it as if it were made of thin paper. A smile stretches his lips as he caresses the fabric, remembering all the times his father held him while wearing this jacket. He remembers how warm it always was and how soft the leather had gotten over 70 years of existence. If there was ever something of his dad's James would want to keep, it's this jacket.

"Mom, I...I don't know, I mean. I don't know what to say," he stammers.

"Just say you'll be okay with waiting a little while to wear it? I have to get it cleaned and I'm sure fitted a little," she says. James nods, still taking in the fact that the coat is now his. This little piece of Steve's history—and his own—now belongs to him.

"You can try it on if you like." Natasha offers.

James nods in agreement, and gingerly slips one arm into the sleeve, pulling the jacket around his back for the other sleeve. Surprisingly, the coat hugs his arms well enough that any looseness looks natural, but the body is a little on the baggy side. Steve's body was wide, and James is narrow like his mother, but Natasha assures him it's nothing that can't be taken in. James almost cringes at the thought of someone altering his dad's jacket. Maybe because he's sentimental or maybe because he doesn't think he's worthy to wear it. Either way, he'd rather bulk up as much as he can than to fit the coat to his body now.

For the first time since he put on the jacket, he looks over to his mom. Something in her eyes and in her smile creates a pang of guilt in his stomach. Her peridot gaze carries pride as she looks at him, but a bitter sweet smile pulls her lips, and James isn't sure what she's thinking or feeling, but he feels the need to take off the jacket.

"It fits all right on the arms, but the body's too big. I guess I'm not as built as Dad was," he chuckles.

Natasha waves off his comment. "Don't worry about it, I think it looks fine."

James doesn't agree and takes the jacket off, handing it back to her. "Thank you for going to all this trouble to find it...I really do appreciate it."

"I knew you would." The two give each other a quick hug before Natasha looks down at the small watch on her wrist. "James, why aren't you getting dressed. You're meeting with Dr. Lang is at ten. It's nine-fifteen now."

"Okay, Mom. I'm going," he says, pecking her on the head as he walks by.

Upon closing the door to his room, he collapses on his bed, rubbing his face with his palms. He lies there on his back for a while, staring at the ceiling fan as it circles round and round slowly, cooling him down from his workout. _Do I really want to go to get my brain picked apart?_

He thinks back to the day he left the United States—the last time he talked to anyone from SHIELD. He only ever talked to his fellow Guard soldiers during the war, and a lot has happened since he's been comfortable with dealing Agents. _Will I be able to manage to sit still for an hour or two? Will I be able to keep my eyes and thoughts from wandering? Or will I even be able to walk in Dr. Lang's office without freaking out? There's just too much left in the air, too many uncertainties...like China._

He shudders at his own thoughts and leans up, now vertical at the end of his bed. _No,_ he thinks. _This isn't China. This is nothing like China. It's just an evaluation, like the ones you took during your recruitment._ James glances over at the clothes he laid out on his dresser earlier in the morning and groans, clenching his jaw. _I am going,_ he tells himself. James stands and changes clothes, ignoring the little voice inside telling him to crawl into bed and stay home. That voice isn't going to get the best of Captain America's son...at least, not today. Not when he has so much to look forward to this afternoon. _It's just a meeting,_ he reminds himself, almost dressed now. _Besides, it's either I go on my own or someone from SHIELD drags me there._

 **S.H.I.E.L.D. Base 0457, NYC Location 4. 9:55 am.**

Sitting behind her desk and organizing patient folders at nine in the morning was not how Dr. Lang wanted to spend her day. She had a quieter morning planned, one that involved sleeping late and drinking hot chicken broth to rid her sinuses of the cold she snagged Tuesday night. But when you're the Director's right hand in agent affairs, and all other psychologists just won't do, one must work whilst sick. Because—unfortunately—SHIELD waits for no man, woman or cough.

Cassandra's unsteady hands sort through several files, placing each in their respective shallow bins atop her desk; Seen, Unseen, and No-Shows. _Wait,_ she stops herself. _No-Shows go back in the cabinet._

The tall, slender blonde stands and steps over to one of three larger filing cabinets against the far-right wall. A tug on the top drawer and she squishes the folders in with the many others crowding the drawer, all colorfully labeled and alphabetically organized. She smiles at her sorting skills and pushes the drawer back into its place. Cassandra makes it back halfway to her desk when she freezes in place.

 _Not again,_ she thinks as another sneeze creeps up her nose. The sensation of pressure building and that little tickle at the back of her throat forces her to cover her mouth in expectation. After what seems like an eternity standing there with her face in the crease of her elbow, the pressure finally releases in one adorable burst. The kitten-like sneeze echoes through her office, leaving her dizzier than before.

"Ugh," she grumbles, wobbling back to her desk.

"Bless you," comes a voice from the doorway.

Cassandra's eyes drift up to see Agent Washington, her faithful side-kick coming in with a bright smile. "Thanks, Ellen. Who's next on the list."

Ellen glances down at the clipboard in her hands. "We've got Agent Allera who needs you to sign a medical excuse for his college so he can go on a mission."

Cassandra grabs a tissue and wipes her nose. A tired sigh makes her sink further into her desk chair. She looks up for a moment and her blue-gray eyes catch Ellen watching her with a furrowed brow.

"What?"

"Have you taken any medication today?" she asks.

Cassandra leans up and props her arms on the desk in front of her.

"Ellen, I have taken medication for this cold for almost a week, I'm almost over it and I'm not about to take one more pill voluntarily. So, no."

Ellen shrugs. "Yes, ma'am." The young girl pivots on her heels and exits Cassandra's office.

She comes moments later with a slip of paper for her to sign for Agent Allera. With her doctor's signature now on the paper, she sends Ellen back out. Cassandra looks over the clipboard Ellen left on her desk earlier, searching for who was next on the schedule. The woman begins to smile when she notices Captain Rogers' name right under Agent Allera's. But, she can't help but wonder if he'll show up this time. If not, she'd have to go get him herself and she didn't want to resort to that.

Ellen cracks open the door and pokes her head through the slit. "Dr. Lang, Rogers is waiting outside," she announces. Relieved calm washes over Cass, and she tells her assistant to bring him in.

 **Doctor Lang's Office. 10:00 am.**

James looks down at his watch outside in the hall, watching agents pass him by. He sits slumped over in one of several waiting chairs lining the wall outside Dr. Lang's main office. His foot taps uncontrollably against the hard floor as he darts his eyes around. To say he's nervous would be an understatement. Although, he couldn't explain why he just knows he doesn't want to be here. And all this waiting is making it worse. But his nervousness is interrupted when the sound of a door opening draws his attention. He straightens his posture as young lady greets him and tells him to come in. His heart stops but he gets up anyway and follows her into a waiting area. The place has a warm vibe with soft lights and bright colors decorating the room. Burnt orange walls with cushy tan chairs line the room, a wicker ceiling fan rotating above and a smart desk in front of a holoboard with a fluctuating world map taking up the wall to the right. If the room didn't have a calming Lavender scent, he might be a little overwhelmed.

"Wait here, let me make sure Dr. Lang is ready for you," says the young lady.

All James can manage is a nod as she walks forward to a door at the back of the room with Dr. Cassandra Lang's name painted on the glass. The Agent reenters and motions him forward to her office.

The door fully swings open, allowing the tall, lean young man to walk in as the doctor lays his paperwork before her. The Agent shuts the door behind him, but James stands stiffly in the doorway, scanning doctor's appearance. The woman, probably in her thirties, unfolds a white file folder on her desk, and her blue-gray eyes look over it. Her long sandy-blonde hair is tucked behind her ears, and her button nose is red from the cold she mentioned on the phone. She glances up at him and raises a brow, noticing that he hasn't sat down yet.

"There are plenty of chairs, Captain Rogers," she says. She points him to the chair across her desk.

"Just Rogers, thank you," James says. He takes a seat, sitting down slowly as if the chair will break. _If she calls me Captain this whole meeting, I don't think I can handle it._

"How about I just call you James?" she asks. Her kind smile and soft voice make him feel more at ease—but only slightly. He nods and looks around her office. "So, James, we'll go ahead and get started. First, welcome. I'm Dr. Lang, as you know and I'm going to start by letting you sign some papers that say you officially sign off on your Guard duties, and that you submit to this evaluation. It'll ask you to sign so that SHIELD isn't held responsible for its decision concerning your mental health. If I think you need any sort of counseling or treatment, it just gives me permission to do so. Make sense?"

James blinks, his dark blue eyes dropping to the papers and pen Dr. Lang has slid across the desk for him. "Yeah, that makes sense," he says. He takes a silver fountain pen Cassandra has offered him in his fingers and skims over the pages, picking up certain words and phrases as he goes, all of which equate to what Dr. Lang explained. _At least she's honest, which is more than I can say for the rest of SHIELD,_ he thinks. James carefully pens his signature on the required lines then puts the cap on the pen. He lays it on the desk and Cassandra picks up the papers, looking them over.

"All right. Now, we can move on to the evaluation. The eval will be split into two parts. The first part will be questions concerning basic information. The second part will be questions about you and your time in China, and they'll help me determine where to place you in Reserve Service. Sound good?" she asks.

It's not like he can say otherwise, so he agrees and the good doctor pulls some papers from his file. She grabs a pair of reading glasses from a drawer and with her pen in hand, they begin.

"What is your full name and service number, current rank and date enlisted?"

James breathes out a sigh. "My name is James Buchanan Rogers. Rank, Captain. My service number is four-four-seven, eight-three-two. I joined SHIELD's International Guard on March nineteenth, two-thousand-thirty-nine."

Cassandra scribbles a few things down before she continues to the next questions. "How long have you been affiliated with SHIELD?"

"Since ninth grade. I was in the SHIELD Early Education and Training Program. I was recruited for the Guard one year after graduating from high school and the SEET program," he says. He taps his fingers on his leg idly as she continues, writing and speaking at the same time.

"And your arrival date for reentering the United States?" she asks.

"September eighth, two-thousand-forty-two."

Cassandra nods and stops writing, switching papers. "Now, we'll start with part two. I'll go a little slower with these questions since there's more of them."

James nods and stops tapping his fingers. The easy part is done but the weight on his chest reminds him this isn't over. They've just begun and there's no telling what questions SHIELD has given her to ask. _Questions about Zhai Lu._ Cassandra's voice snaps James from his memories.

"Tell me about your first few months as a Guard soldier. I'd like to know about how well you reacted to all the things that were thrown at you, being in a new situation and all."

"Well," James rubs his mouth as he thinks. "I'd say I reacted rather well. I mean, I was young and inexperienced as a soldier. I was...I wouldn't say bullied, but I would say tormented by the soldiers in my training troop. They seemed to think it was hilarious that I was a son of Captain America."

"They gave you a hard time? Why do you think so?" she asks. She taps her silver pen to her lips like she already knows why.

"I don't know, maybe they expected me to be taller. Or maybe, they thought I would get special treatment. Either way, they hated me. But, lucky for me, I didn't get sent out with any of them when we were separated into different battalions. I ended up with a limited group patrolling and evacuating small villages in the front lines." James takes to tapping his foot again, but this time, Cassandra notices it.

"So, what was your battalion like? Did you get along with your superior officer?"

"No, he hated me too. Captain Collins was the meanest man I'd ever met. And I was stuck being his right hand because I was the second highest rank in our group," James laughs. He recalls his Captain with a smirk, shaking his head. "Every chance he got, he tried to either belittle me or embarrass me."

"Why do you think he was like that to you?"

"Well...that's actually a long story. During a confrontation with the enemy, Collins got shot several times in the stomach with a high-powered energy discharger. He was dying. There was nothing the medics or I could do," James pauses. His tapping foot has stilled, his gaze unmoving as he stares at the desk. "I was trying to put pressure on his wound when he told me...he told me he was tough on me because he wanted me to be strong." James quiets, his mouth hanging open as if looking for the right words to explain what happened that day. "He promoted me to Captain before he died. I took over the fifth battalion."

Cassandra nods, writing something on her paper as James refocuses on her. She scans her papers for a moment before asking the next question. But, something in her eyes forms a slight pang of worry in James' gut. "Okay, James, I have a question here given to me by the head of the International Guard. He asked me to clear things up with you since they can't seem to get any information from anyone else in your group..."

James swallows hard, his throat suddenly becoming parched. "What's that?"

Cassandra locks eyes with James and he knows what's coming. "What happened July fourth, two-thousand-forty? Or as you know it, Zhai Lu Pass?" James keeps his gaze connected to Cassandra's, neither breaking the stare between them. His mind races as he thinks back to the "incident" as it's referred to. He closes his eyes and searches for the phrase he told his men to say if ever asked about the Zhai Lu Pass.

He reopens his eyes, now with an emotionless glaze over them. "What happened at Zhai Lu Pass is classified."

Cassandra sighs as if she knew it was coming. "It's funny you say that because that's the exact phrase your fifth battalion buddies say, and that's what the Guard told me to expect. But, I had to ask. And I'm going to ask again, what happened at the Zhai Lu Pass?"

James leans back in his chair, exasperation shifting his features into a scowl. "I told you, it's classified."

"By whose authority?" she prods.

"By the acting ranking officer."

"You mean you?" she asks. "James, SHIELD and the Guard have a gap in their records from your team on that day. Not to mention, that three men died and an entire enemy squad went missing. And you're going to tell me that you and your men can't talk about it because you said so?" James says nothing. He simply sits and stares at the floor. "Okay. But, I'm required to ask one more time before we move on. What happened at Zhai Lu Pass?"

Their eyes meet again, James' face expressionless. "What happened at Zhai Lu Pass is classified."

 **Stark Tower, Midtown. 11:14 am.**

This meeting of the minds is tense. Across the table, Blake glares at Antonio as if he's killed his dog, and Antonio smirks, arching a dark brow as he scans the contents of his hands. His next move is life or death, he can feel it. Prideful life if he wins and shameful death if he loses.

"You're going down, Kid," Antonio says.

Blake smiles. "Bring it, Old Man."

"Got any…Sevens!?"

"Go fish!"

Antonio groans and throws his head back, sinking in his chair.

"I thought I had you that time…" Blake laughs as Antonio draws from the deck of cards between them. They'd been at this for ten minutes already while Tony, Bruce and T'Challa wait for Rick Jones. At first, the boys started out standing out of the way of what they thought was going to be a meeting, but then after Bruce got a text from Rick saying he'd be late and the three old guys got started catching up, they decided to play some cards. And then one game of Go Fish became two, which became three, and now they're on their fifth game—Antonio being the reigning champ. It was either this or try to answer all Blake's never-ending flow of questions about everything.

"So, you're not mad about the snack mishap?" Blake asks out of the blue. He pulls two cards from his hands and lays them on the table, a pair of fours.

"Dude, I'm just honored you thought to bring me some Kulcha bread all the way from India," Antonio says. He too makes a pair then asks for a nine, and Blake grudgingly offers up his card. "Although, I would've loved to be able to say I ate Curry Kulcha straight from the homeland."

The two had been in this same situation many times before. Waiting for that one guy to show up, or while their fathers blabber on about who knows what about who and how they know it. The boys had to find something to entertain themselves with and playing cards became their go-to. Antonio and Blake have become good friends over their many games of Go Fish, Crazy Eights, and Gin Rummy through the years they've known each other. Even with their age gap, Antonio and Blake think of themselves as science bros until the end…or at least until the end of this game, considering the winner.

"Got any fives?" Antonio asks. Blake stares at his hand of two cards and his amber eyes widen. He pulls out one of the cards and hands it to Antonio. The young Stark smirks as he makes his last pair, laying his fives on the table. "Thank you for your generous contribution to the 'make Howie a winner' fund. Please read 'em and weep, and don't forget to tip your waitress."

"Dang it!" Blake yells, tossing his last card at his opponent. "I can't believe I got beat by an old man."

"I've been playing Go Fish longer than you have, Kid. By which I take 'Old Man' as a compliment," Antonio says.

"Pfft. I'm done." Blake stands and walks over to the windows at the back of the room, looking down the side of the building. Behind him, Antonio rolls his eyes, gathers the playing cards and slides them back in their box. Upon standing from his victory seat, Antonio tucks the cards in a drawer on his father's desk and joins his young friend by the windows. They stand quietly while the voices of their dads' echo through the room, their conversation varying from subject to subject. Blake glances at Antonio beside him but quickly turns his eyes back out the window. He knows he must look like he's in another world completely, but Antonio doesn't look much different. Their brows are furrowed and Blake runs his fingers through the curly brown mop on his head. In all the rush this morning, he forgot to put on a beanie and he's not used to the awkward feeling of his hair being loose. But the weight of Antonio's constant stare forces the teen to ask what's so interesting.

"Your shirt. The sun's reflecting off your shirt and it's been blinding me since you got here," Antonio remarks. Blake looks down at his bright red shirt, tugging at the bottom. "I'm kidding...but I know that 'somethin's got you off' look, so spill." Blake sighs and crosses his arms over his chest.

"I don't know. It's just this whole thing with Med Corp. I mean, Dad and I know that this Getz guy has to be involved in Goodyear's death somehow, but Rick doesn't think we should point fingers and just let the cops do their own investigation," Blake stops. He takes to nibbling on his thumb nail and props his other hand on his hip. "If we know that Getz' daddy was AIM, then why aren't other people saying he's a suspect?" Antonio scratches his head, a slightly vacant expression holding his gaze.

"I mean, Dad and I have already discussed it, but maybe the police haven't found anything that would suggest foul play yet. Any way it goes, my dad has friends in special places and if Getz does anything fishy, we'll know about it. So, don't worry." Antonio claps a hand on Blake's shoulder and the teen offers a sheepish smile in return. The sudden stir of voices behind them and the addition of a new voice grabs the boys' attention. Rick walks in, huffing like he ran up the ninety-two flights of stairs while Antonio and Blake join the men.

"I'm sorry I'm late everyone," he says. He sheds his messenger bag onto Tony's desk and starts grabbing papers out of it. "Traffic was so awful, I ended up bailing on my taxi and walking the rest of the way—which was only four blocks—because that's just how bad it was." He sighs, files in hand. "So, let's get started then?"

"Floor's all yours, Hippy-Dippy," Tony says. He props on his desk and smirks at Rick who's now self-consciously gliding a hand through his layered copper hair.

"Okay then. Welcome everyone, thanks, Mr. Stark and your royal highness for agreeing to meet," Rick says. He offers a half-hearted bow to T'Challa on the screen. A now graying T'Challa chuckles.

"T'Challa will suffice."

"Right, anyway," Rick starts. "So, I was going to tell you the good news last night, Bruce, but I decided to wait until today. I was contacted yesterday evening by Med Corp's board of investors and they informed me that Leonard Getz is the most likely candidate to fill Goodyear's position." Bruce crosses his arms over his chest.

"I thought you said this was good news."

"There was good news and bad. That was the bad news, but the good news is that the board—with some gentle persuasion by a dashing rogue," Rick says, straightening his jacket proudly. "They've decided to reinstate funding to you and all of their charity partners."

"Dad!" Blake smiles.

"Really? They're serious?" Bruce asks.

Rick nods. "They'd gotten so many complaints and I suppose they felt bad about removing their support, they decided to make things right—even if they don't have a CEO at the moment."

"I told you everything would work out," Tony says, shaking Bruce's hand.

Bruce blinks, shaking his head in disbelief. Blake tilts his head at his father's curious reaction. Rick goes on about how they can have another trip organized by spring, but Bruce just stands still, his honey-colored eyes deep in thought. His hand is over his mouth like he has something to say but Rick is on a roll.

"What do you think, Bruce? Of course, you said you'd need to go over some samples you brought back, right?" Bruce nods, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes. I found some odd weapons burns on some of the refugees and wanted to find out what made them."

"Weapons burns?" T'Challa asks, something striking his attention.

"What're you thinking?" Tony wonders. Blake and Antonio exchange glances, then look to T'Challa. The King of Wakanda deliberates deeply on whatever has sprung to mind, his light wrinkles darkening slightly in thought. His copper eyes search for something, and Blake wonders if he knows something about what he and his father saw in India.

"Bruce, I would be very interested in hearing the results of your tests."

"If it's this interesting to his Highness, I'd like to see the results too," Tony adds. For the first time since the meeting began, it's quiet. Bruce still has that far off look in his eyes his son can't yet decipher. Rick must notice it too from the way his walnut eyes watch Bruce.

"So, Bruce," Rick starts. "You haven't said anything. If you don't think the plans are right yet, there's always room for readjusting." Bruce moves his hand away from his mouth.

"Actually, I was thinking I'd like to spend some extra time home for research." Rick rubs the back of his neck.

"Like, how much extra time?" Through the exchange, Bruce glances over at Blake and Blake silently questions him.

"Maybe we could push the trip up to next fall?" Both Rick and Tony arch their brows questioningly, but Blake listens. He listens and waits because he knows what his father is doing, and he couldn't be prouder. _Proud?_ he thinks. _Me, proud of my dad? What a plot twist_. Bruce continues by explaining to the group that he'd like to stay for rest, research, and his son's first day of college.

"College?" Rick asks. A surprised smile dominates his expression and Blake gets a proud pat on the back from Antonio next to him.

"We talked about it on the way home. There's nothing definite yet, but we're meeting with the admissions counselor at City College this afternoon about starting in the Winter," Blake says, smiling.

"Congratulations," Antonio says. "City College is a busy school. You sure you can handle all the hustle?" Bruce smiles.

"I think he'll handle it just fine. He's ready for it, and I'm ready for some rest."

"Well, we're not spring heroes anymore, guys," Tony says. He cuts his eyes at T'Challa on the screen but the King doesn't dignify his comment with a reply, just a snicker and a roll of copper eyes. "Bruce, you've got a place here at the Tower if you need some extra research space. It's cleaner and is slightly more glamorous than your basement."

"I may take you up on that offer," Bruce says.

"Well, I suppose since the real purpose of this meeting worked itself out in the first five minutes and we're going in another direction now, I guess meeting adjourned," Rick says. "Very productive fifteen minutes, guys! Now comes the fun part, paperwork and discussions with Med Corp." Rick picks up his messenger bag off the desk and pulls a folder from it, handing it to Bruce.

"Paperwork, great."

"Dad, don't you think we should get going if we wanna eat before the meeting?" Blake suggests. Antonio checks his watch and agrees, stating the current time. Bruce and Blake say their goodbyes, T'Challa signs off, and Blake apologizes once more to Antonio for the lack of Indian bread.

"Don't worry about it," he says, winking.

"I'll see you later, Old Man," Blake says.

"Get outta here, Kid," Antonio says, waving him out the door. The Banners step out of the office, Rick not far behind. They walk down the hall to the elevator, and as they wait for it to reach the 92nd floor, Blake notices his father smiling at him. The teen looks over at him and smirks. It's been a while since they've been happy with each other. No more worrying about the future, no more feeling shut out and alone, no more miscommunication, at least for now. For now, they're just content. _Content. I like the feeling of it,_ Blake thinks. The elevator door opens and the guys step in, both leaning on the back wall. Bruce wraps his arm around Blake's shoulders as they ride down in silence. _Yep, things are looking up,_ he thinks. The lift stops at the bottom floor and they step into the lobby.

The Banners push through Stark Tower's doors and Blake continues down the concrete steps while Bruce stops on the top, looking at his empty hands as if they're supposed to hold something. "Hold up, Blake. I think I forgot my folder." Blake rolls his eyes and groans.

"You just had it...never mind. I'll wait." Bruce walks back inside and meets Rick in the lobby as he passes by. Jones gives Blake a questioning look as he walks out and stands beside him.

"Let me guess, he forgot the folder I gave him?" Rick asks, snickering.

"And that's why you have to make sure it's in his hands before you leave," Blake says. Rick's snicker turns into a laugh, forcing a chuckle from Blake. His dad may be a genius, but he can be forgetful. I guess that's another of those weird things Bruce's mind does since after the strain of locking the Hulk up in his mind fifteen years ago. But hey, Blake will take forgetfulness over dealing with the Hulk all the time. Even if the Hulk may be the only thing that can save him.

On the roof of the C-wing adjoined to Stark Tower stands a man. Dressed in an Army uniform and a green tactical vest, he kneels beside a three-foot-tall ledge and unlocks a long black case on the ground beside him. He pulls out a gun, a sniper rifle of sorts and props it on the ledge, aiming down at Blake.

Below, Blake looks to Rick. "So, what're you gonna do now that you've got a break?" he asks.

"Well," he rubs the back of his neck. "I think I'm gonna go back to my real job—not that working with you and Bruce isn't a real job. But, it'll be nice to get back to my music."

Above, the man twists the scope on the rifle slightly to the right as he peers down the sights. From here, he can count the freckles on Blake's face. A chattering in his earpiece snaps his focus.

"Do you have eyes on the target?" a woman asks. The man sighs.

"I do."

"Good," she answers. "Remember, you only have three shots, so make them count." He breathes in.

"Are you sure about this? Why him?" The woman's voice huffs, making her exasperation evident to her hired gun.

"I don't pay you to ask questions. Now shoot the kid or I'll shoot yours. They're out playing in the yard at the moment, in case you were wondering. The little one is so cute when she twirls her skirt." His pulse quickens as his heart skips a beat.

"Okay, okay!" he says, taking aim. With his gaze down the sights and his finger on the trigger, he watches Blake and Rick talk. He can't hear them, but their conversation gives him the time he needs to aim for the perfect shot.

Below, Blake continues with questions for Rick. "Are you gonna work on your own music, or go back to doing guitar lessons?" He twists his gray vans on the step underfoot, wondering where his father is. Rick pauses a moment as an old motorcycle rolls by and to the parking garage.

"I think I'm gonna go back to giving lessons, I miss interacting with beginners," Rick answers.

Above, the man is close to pulling to trigger now. But the longer he watches Blake, the more he can't seem to shake the jitters rattling his trigger-finger. He'd done this before, so what was stopping him now? Maybe because the times before were for King and Country and his family wasn't being held at gunpoint for blackmail. He moves his face away from the rifle scope, shaking his head.

"No. I can't do this. I don't care if that psycho has my family or not, I'm not doing this."

He pulls his gun off the ledge and lays it in its case, but a shimmer of something catches in the corner of his eye. He looks up to find a saber pointed at his face.

"She told me you were weak," comes a voice. A light German accent drags at the words that send a chill up the man's spine. The full view of a purple mask, a brown jacket and a leather scabbard belt meets the man where he kneels.

"Please, we can't do this to him," he pleads.

"That is not for you to decide." The fellow in the purple mask sheaths his thin sword. "Step aside, Talbot."

"No, I won't let you do it, Zemo," Talbot yells. He pulls a pistol from a side holster but the gun shudders in his hand as Zemo approaches. The slender man in purple smacks the gun out of Talbot's hand with unbridled strength and shoves him down. He falls backward onto the asphalt roof but scrambles to get back up.

"Out of my way," Zemo says. He snatches the rifle from its case and points it down to Blake who's still on the steps. His aim is on the scrawny teen's neck when Talbot pushes the gun away. They struggle, both with hands firmly grasping the gun. Talbot knows he can't win this fight, not with Zemo's mutated strength, but he can prolong it.

"I won't let you ruin that kid's life!" Talbot shouts. Zemo pushes against him.

"Even at the cost of your own family?" They push back and forth, but Zemo twists the rifle and thrusts it into Talbot's chin. Talbot trips back and hits the ledge, dizzy from the blow. Zemo takes aim again, but this time, Talbot is too late to stop him.

Below, Blake pulls his phone from his pocket to check to the time. "What's taking Dad so long? We're gonna have to skip lunch or be late for the meeting with the admissions counselor." The teen walks to the bottom step and waits. He looks up, searching inside the lobby for any sign of his father but instead sees Rick jumping towards him.

"Blake, get down!" Rick pushes him to the pavement, but Rick rolls several feet from him, hunched over with something sticking out of his neck. The next few moments are soundless. Screams from the lobby fade as Blake kneels next to Rick, staring at a tiny, metallic disk locking onto his neck with a small tube jutting from the center. Green liquid sloshes in the tube then slowly disappears into Rick's body, leaving veins of emerald creeping under his skin. Blake's amber eyes frantically search for where the shot came from and land on the part of Stark Tower across from him. Two men fight each other over a gun, then suddenly, one breaks the other loose and shoots him point-blank. The shot forces his body over the ledge and the man lands just inside the Stark Tower gate, his body motionless on the black pavement.

Blake's body goes numb and a pair of thin arms wrap around him, dragging him into the lobby. Through the glass doors, he can only watch Rick writhe in pain as teal scales begin to break through his skin. His clothes tear as his body grows. Blake can just barely hear his rescuer and everyone in the lobby yelling over the ringing in his ears. _Where is the ringing coming from?_

"Dad," he manages. His voice sounds muffled to him, and the security officer who saved him drags him deeper into the lobby since his legs aren't working. Blake can't make out Rick anymore and a loud crash clears the ringing in his ears. The glass on the doors has been shattered, along with more glass raining down the side of the building. Blake's ears are now bombarded with panicked voices crying and screaming, "monster."

"Dad!" Blake says. The two are now crouched behind a service desk at the back of the room, lying in wait. The numbness in Blake's body has begun to fade and his vision clears enough for him to realize what's happening outside. "I need my Dad," he says.

"You need to stay here, kid," the security officer says. He leaves Blake and starts directing people towards the back of the room for safety. But as panic swells in Blake's gut as another sound comes from out front, a loud screeching like a bird. _The other guy,_ he thinks. He has to know what's happening to Rick, or...whatever he is now. The teen's knees wobble as he pulls his body off the floor, using the service desk for support. Now on his feet, the scene is in full view—two towering creatures screaming at each other. One, a teal reptilian monster with spikes, scales and claws like a dragon. The other, a misshapen man-bird, his arms shifting into ruffled jet wings.

Upstairs, Bruce stops in Tony's doorway as Stark Tower shudders underfoot. He turns around slowly and locks eyes with Tony.

"Please, tell me you felt that?" Antonio moves towards the windows and peers down the side of the building, his electric eyes widening. Tony asks what he sees, but the young man is unable to speak. His father walks towards him and stops at the window, his eyes following Antonio's. Bruce, still in the doorway, comes to stand with them.

"Dad, I think we need to call SHIELD." As soon as the words leave his mouth, the glass shatters, surrendering to the ear-piercing shriek coming from down below. The men shield themselves as shards pelt them. The three look to each other, but Bruce's eyes hold terror in them.

"Tony, Blake...Blake was down there!" Antonio looks down at his smartwatch, his expression matching Bruce's. "James just texted me that he's in the parking garage. Dad, we have to do something!" In the next moment, Tony's demeanor changes. His expression shifts to serious and he starts strutting towards the door, snatching an earpiece and sticking it in his ear on his way.

"Jarvis, alert SHIELD. Howie, I'm sounding the building-wide alarms. I need you to make sure everyone is evacuated. It should be safe to send them out the cargo loading in the back. Bruce, you're with me."

"Wait, what are we doing?" Bruce asks. "What about Blake?" He and Antonio run to catch up with Tony who is almost to the elevator now. "Is it safe to take the elevator?"

"We'll be fine. Howie, take the stairs. Go through each floor and make sure everyone is out, got it?" Tony says. Antonio stops at the elevator.

"I got it, but, what are you going to do?" The elevator dings and Tony and Bruce step in.

"I'm going to get backup."

* * *

 **A/N:** Did you see it coming? Drop me a comment and tell me how much you're freaking out. I'm freaking out. Megan's freaking out. The cat we found under our house is freaking out. What is happening? Theories. Hit me with them.

 **Up Next:** The conclusion that only destiny can predict. Or maybe Jamie already did.


	11. Chapter 10: Destiny Part 2

**A/N:** Hello and welcome to apologies with Kelli, I'm your host, terrible person. Today we're going to be talking about how inconsistent Kelli is as a writer and poster of her stories. She sucks. But, to be fair to her, she has been busy moving her life from her home of 19 years to college where she lives with a bunch of people she doesn't know. Another point we'll bring up is how busy she has become to the point of not having time to write at all. But, excuses are irrelevant to the patient reader. So, on behalf of our show and our host, here is the next chapter. Part 2 of Destiny. Enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** This is mine, Marvel is not.

* * *

 **Middle Central Park, Midtown, New York. Monday, September 15th, 2042. 12:13 pm.**

Kassidy walks the concrete pathways carved out of nature, people meandering about. On her afternoon break, she makes her way to meet James at Stark Tower for lunch with Antonio. She's been considering all the ways she could tell Antonio her secret all morning. There's the plain and simple: _I'm a vigilante named Eagle Eye and I've been lying to you to protect you._ Then there's the dramatic ease in: _There's a good reason I've been avoiding you._ But, her favorite tactic is where she shows him her weapons and explains them piece by piece. Yep, that's the most fun way to go. But all her ideas will disappear as soon as she opens her mouth to talk to him. _What's the point in trying to plan something to say?_ she asks herself.

 _There's no other way to say it, so I'll tell him the truth. I am Eagle Eye, Archer of Midtown, Heroine of East Side, and the best friend that's been lying to you about everything._

She chuckles aloud. "You have such a way with words, Barton." Her feet carry her to the northeast end of the park and she stops outside of the park gate. The traffic rolls by as she waits for a signal for her safe passage across the busy intersection. She taps her booted foot, a crowd now joining her for the wait. Her phone starts to buzz in her pocket from a text. Kassidy twists a lock of her wavy hair around her finger while she checks her device. It's from James.

 _'Pulling into Stark Tower parking garage now, I hope you're almost here too.'_

Kassidy taps a reply, her fingers moving like lightning across the holographic screen. _'I'll have you know I'm three blocks away.'_ The crowd around her begins walking forward, so she follows, never once looking up. On the other side of the street, she shoves her phone and her hands in her jeans' pockets. Strolling down the sidewalk as a cool breeze blows reminds Kassidy how much she loves fall. She's always looks forward to September here in NYC. It's still warm out, but the air is cool enough for jeans and tall boots—all the fall fashion rage. Of course, she'd wear jeans and boots year-round if people didn't look at her funny in the summer. But the fact isn't that wearing jeans and boots is comfortable, it's also easy to wear on patrols. No changing necessary.

 _There you go again!_ she thinks. _Everything goes back to heroing for you, doesn't it? Life would be so much easier if you were normal._ Kassidy walks another block, mentally chastising herself with every step. She closes in on Stark Tower and the scene around her shifts. People running and screaming like something straight out of a disaster movie Hollywood. A flood of people rush towards her, hopping out of their cars and scrambling away. Kassidy almost gets trampled as a horde of frightened New Yorkers jet past her.

"What the heck?" she says. The girl weaves her way through the crowd and ends up on the hood of an abandoned taxi to see what's happening. But as soon as her eyes land on the source of the chaos, she watches her normal afternoon flush down the toilet.

A giant creature flies across the street, plowing into cars as it crashes into a building on the other side. It lies there, debris covering its body while another monster swoops down from the sky. A plum of black feathers fall around them as it lands on the other's chest. Kassidy, frozen in her place, realizes that the creature came from where Stark Tower's main gate is. And of all the actions going through her mind, the only one she can carry out is to call Marvel. She thanks whoever is listening she had enough sense to add his number to her contacts. She dials him, hoping to hear his voice.

The dial tone sounds, and Kassidy jumps off the taxi. She ignores people screaming at her to turn around as she navigates in the opposite direction. The two monsters are now in the middle of the road, tossing sedans and motorcycles at each other. Kassidy keeps her eyes on them as her boots hit the sidewalk, now running at top speed.

"Hello?" Mr. Marvel's voice finally answers.

"Marvel! This is Eagle Eye, I need you right now!" she yells. She jumps and twists through the crowd, finding herself in an empty alleyway. She moves her phone to the crook of her neck as she searches for a place to change.

"Well, this is kinda sudden, don'tcha think?"

"No, I mean I need your help! There are two monsters battling it out in front of Stark Tower and I'm gonna need you to get here, like, yesterday!"

"Wait, what?! Monsters? In New York? Okay, okay...okay, okay, okay! I'll be there faster than you can say Monsters in New York!" he says.

"I already did." She hangs up the phone and ducks behind a mountain of boxes stacked around the back entrance to an antique shop. Kassidy drops her backpack and pulls open the drawstrings. She grabs her hoodie and goggles, sliding them on. Next, she pulls out something folded up, but with the push of a button, it becomes a full-size recurve bow. She pulls the strings on her bag tight around a handful of arrows sticking out like a makeshift quiver. With her bag strapped across her chest and her bow in hand, Eagle Eye starts climbing up the building beside her. A birds-eye view of the monster mania below confirms how outnumbered she is.

 **Better Breakfast Diner, Upper East Side. 12:15 pm.**

Markus shoves his phone in his pocket and ducks into the men's bathroom. His heart rate picks up, making it impossible to breathe like a normal person. Once the door closes behind him, he starts pacing in the one stall tile room. He needs a plan before he bails on his coworkers. _Maybe if I say I'm taking a break and slip out the back, that might work? Or, I could wait until the panic ensues and duck out in the rush? Yeah…that sounds good._ Markus blows out a puff of air before leaving the bathroom. He's met by the sounds of nervous people talking about the images on the small television mounted on the back wall.

"As you can see, Midtown is in utter panic as these two creatures carve a path of destruction outside Stark Tower," says a male reporter. "The NYPD is on the scene but say SHIELD won't arrive for several minutes."

Markus' emerald eyes widen. _So much for having time for an inconspicuous exit._ He unties his stained apron and leaves it on the bar, heading for the back door. He grabs his black jacket and reaches for the doorknob when a panicked voice stops him. David Estevez, Mario's younger brother, takes Markus by the arm and pulls him backwards.

"Where are you going, Marko? We need to stay here where it's safe," he says. His dark brown eyes fill with terror and the alarmed voices in the diner don't sound far from panic either. These people haven't seen something like this in years, and David is young. He's never seen creatures like this at all. He and so many others live in the peaceful bubble the Avengers created. But now, as Markus looks in David's eyes, he knows that peaceful bubble is about to pop.

Markus moves David's hand from his arm and squeezes it. "Stay here until your parents get back. Try to keep everyone inside and if things get bad, move them to the back of the building."

"What are you gonna do?" David asks.

Markus is now halfway out the door when he stops and smiles at the sixteen-year-old. He pulls his jacket on, feeling his mask in one of the pockets. "Don't worry about."

 **Stark Tower, Midtown. 12:17 pm.**

As soon as James parks his bike, a slight vibration stops him in his place. Frozen, his eyes dart around the underground garage, hoping what he felt was his imagination screwing with him. He could believe that, since it's been doing that a lot lately. But after a moment, the garage is still. He shrugs it off and removes his helmet. His fingers comb through the mess his dark blonde hair has become. James swings his leg over his motorcycle and locks down his helmet. He straightens the wrinkles out of his white t-shirt and blue plaid button-up.

Halfway to the garage elevator, a loud crash echoes through the garage. Dust and bits of concrete fall from the vibrating ceiling. He stops, his blueberry eyes drifting towards the garage entrance. His heart begins to pound as a set of large shadows cover the opening, followed by a ground shaking roar.

Without a second thought, James bolts towards the stairs access. He swings open the door and runs up to the ground floor lobby, stopping when he sees a crowd of people running around. A steady flow of men and women run from the stair access across the lobby. Several security guards direct the variety of workers out the back. James stands, bewildered and searching for what to do. His phone vibrates in his pocket but before he see why, a guard meets him with an angered expression.

"Sir, I'm gonna need you to follow the crowd and go out the cargo exit in the back, we're trying to clear the building."

"What's happening?" James asks. The guard looks at him as if he's lost his mind.

"Monsters, that's what happening. Now follow those people," he says, pointing towards the crowd. The man runs off to assist three other guards at the front desks. A roll-down gate activates to secure the entrance from whatever is happening outside.

James finally looks down at his phone and reads a text from Antonio. _'Get out of garage. Find Dad in B-wing. Look for the Vault.'_ He shakes his head. _The Vault?_ "I don't even know where the Vault is…" James mumbles, looking around.

Security doesn't pay James any more attention after that. And with everyone else is busy evacuating the building, his next actions go unseen. Among the crowd, a bright red shirt catches his eyes. Standing at the back wall with his gaze focused out the front doors is a lone teen. He isn't following the crowd to safety, he stands there, frozen. James looks around. He wonders why none of the guards have told him to scram, but they're all preoccupied with other jobs. The soldier takes steps toward the teen and halfway to him, he locks eyes with James. Something chilling about his expression tells James this kid knows something. So, he takes it upon himself to find out what.

"Hey kid, why aren't you leaving? The building needs clearing," James says. But the kid—short and scrawny with a messy fluff of curly brown hair—remains silent. He looks back outside and watches as metal walls roll down to cover the Tower's glass entrance.

"I know one of them," he says. His voice is quiet, even with James' super hearing. "I saw it all happen. All. I was waiting for my dad when he...he changed."

James follows his gaze outside. He tries to imagine what it was like to see a human shift into a terrifying creature, and none of the images are pretty. "Where is your dad now?"

The teen shakes his head. "I don't know exactly…he was with Mr. Stark."

James sighs in relief, putting his hands on the kid's shoulders to focus his wandering eyes. "I'm looking for Mr. Stark too, but I don't know how to get to the Vault from here."

The teen meets James' eyes. "The Vault? I-I don't know where it is...but I know it's past the main security room in the B-wing. I can take you there—I think."

"Can you try?" The kid nods. "Good, my name is James," he offers his hand for the teen to shake.

The teen takes James' hand. "Blake," he half smiles. They walk toward a corridor where the sections of the building connect. With all the focus and effort on securing the perimeter of the building, all the doors unlock on their own. And James and Blake slip into the B-Wing unnoticed. They start down a long, dark hallway but the whole walk, James catches Blake staring at him. After a leading down a few more corridors, Blake finally says something.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

"I don't think so," James says. Blake shrugs. The conversation dissipates as soon as they stop in the doorway of the main security room. The dark room is void of life with most of the monitors either offline or in standby mode. Security is down throughout the whole Tower, so there's no way of knowing what's happening outside. Aside from the occasional screech tearing through the building, nothing's getting through. And the more James thinks about it, the more unsettled he gets.

"I think the Vault is down this hallway," Blake says, pointing. His voice snaps James from his wandering thoughts. They continue down the hall, but the soldier can't shake the nagging paranoia eating at him. _I need to have eyes on the enemy, I can't go running around blind with a lost kid looking for his dad._ The deeper they go into the bowels of Stark Tower, the darker the hallways seem to get. It's as if they figured they'd have less snoops if they dimmed the lights enough. And it's not the lights, but the colors of the hallways start to darken, more black and dark gray paint cover the walls. And the sounds, or lack thereof, make the quiet eerie. Guess the B-wing is as close to "creepy-haunted-hallway-of-doom" as they can get it.

Blake snaps his fingers, causing a reverb through the corridor. Startled, James' reflexes kick in and he grabs the teen's arm. "Why did you do that?"

Blake flinches, pulling away. "I realized I saw you outside earlier, right? You were riding that ancient motorcycle?" he asks.

James sighs and releases his grip. "Yeah, that was me…and my motorcycle isn't 'ancient,' it's vintage." His use of air quotations forces Blake to chuckle.

"Vintage, right." They continue to make their way in the direction they assume the Vault is in. But without a Stark to guide the way, there's no way to know. Yet, they spot a string of lit sconces leading to a garage like door, the boys smile at each other. They run to a wall terminal beside the door, but haven't the faintest clue how to open it.

"Maybe it's a code thing?" Blake suggests.

"I think it requires a key card…" James says. He looks over the terminal, but gives up within minutes. Technology has never been his strong suit. Luckily for him, the door begins to split down the middle and roll back into the wall without any help from him.

"Wow! How you do it, James?" Blake asks. Rogers searches for a reply as the doors slide back, opening the Vault for their curious eyes to behold. The place is dark and dank, crowded and cluttered with boxes stacked higher than James. But at the back of the room, a lit case mounted to the wall cracks open and the gleaming gold and red suit of armor opens up.

A familiar voice rings in James' ears. "I've already opened the door, so there's no going back, Bruce."

"Uncle Tony?" James calls. Blake jets past him into the Vault, calling after his dad. The soldier jogs behind him and finds the teen colliding with an older man who favors him. The man, familiar but not yet placed in James' mind, squeezes Blake in his arms. He checks him over, both tearing up at the sight of each other. James stops short of them, not wanting to interrupt, but hears his name called. Tony Stark stands with Blake's somehow familiar father. The Stark's eyes land on his self-claimed nephew, his scowling face shifting to relief.

"James! You made it," he says. James approaches and Tony pulls him into a hug.

"Antonio texted me to come find you," James says. He steps back to get a look at his uncle. Still tall, dark and ageless, if a bit tired looking.

"Howie told me you were in the parking garage when whatever happened…well happened. I worried you got trapped down there," Tony says. He has a tone in his voice, one James can't place, but the look in his eyes tells the soldier everything he needs to know. Whatever is happening, it's serious.

"I'm fine," he assures. "I got out in time…but I saw them."

"I saw them too." Blake's voice is low and shaky, as if afraid to share what he saw. His father, still gripping his shoulders, looks Blake in the eyes, staring at him in disbelief.

Moments pass as they gaze at each other. He finally asks in a hesitant voice, "What happened?"

Blake backs away from his father and the three men surround him in wait. He looks at Tony, then at his dad again before speaking. "I…I was waiting for you when Rick walked out of the Tower. We were talking about him and things were normal, then he's knocking me to the ground. I heard a shot fired and the next thing I know, I see Rick go down—but it wasn't a bullet. I was like a…a tranquilizer, only it had this green stuff in a tiny tube sticking out of a disc-thingy."

As the teen recalls the event, his eyes drop and shift in every possible direction. James recalls the first casualty he saw happen, and the first time is always the hardest to talk about. It was a private. A bullet penetrated his stomach and he kept bleeding until he died. James and two others tried to stop the blood, but it kept flowing. He was dead within a minute. James swore he'd never forget it, but, then again, things like that aren't hard to remember. James' blueberry eyes, though deep in thought, catch on Tony's expression. He and Blake's dad exchange worried glances as the teen talks. After Blake finishes explaining the details of what he saw, silence falls on the circle of men.

"Bruce…" Tony starts.

"I know," he finishes.

 _Wait…Bruce…Bruce…_ James thinks for a moment, scanning the man's features. His honey gold eyes darkened by purple circles under them, his strong nose, his dark, wild hair. It can't be, he thinks. But it is. This man—this is Bruce Banner. And this kid? This kid is Bruce Banner's son. Embarrassment flushes his cheeks. James knows this isn't the right time to bring it up, but he can't help but he's honored to be in Bruce Banner's presence. One of the few Avengers he hasn't had the pleasure of meeting. Until now, that is. He only wishes it was under different circumstances.

"What? What is it? Dad," Blake says. He looks to his father with worry ensnaring his features.

Bruce Banner offers a thoughtful glance, but looks back to Tony for support. "Blake," he starts. "What you're describing is a Gamma Mutation, now I need you to tell me what happened next. What did you see exactly?"

Blake shakes his head. "I don't know exactly. Rick got shot and his skin started turning blue and scaly. When I looked around for the shooter, I saw two guys up on the C-Wing roof fighting. One shot the other, he fell over the ledge and hit the driveway. The shooter disappeared, and I got dragged inside before the Tower locked down. I saw them change through the windows. Rick into the reptile thing and the man that fell into the bird."

Tony, now with more fear than concern in his eyes, locks his gaze with Bruce's. They have a wordless conversation only they understand, while Blake's legs look like giving out. James offers his arm to the dizzy teen. It seems the gravity of the situation hits him as he recalls one final detail. "I think…I think he was shooting at-at me."

"That's it," Tony says. He takes of his blazer and throws it on a nearby crate as he climbs into his suit.

"Uncle Tony, what the heck are you doing?" James asks. He hands Blake off to his father's care and stands at the base of the armor's case. The red and gold plating stays still as Tony barks commands to Jarvis, telling him to reboot this and start up that. The AI replies in techno-babble, but through the super technicality James doesn't understand, he makes out that a software update could keep his uncle grounded.

"I specifically designed my suits to update when not in use, so, what's the problem?" Tony asks.

" **Well sir, for one, that was twenty-five years ago,** " his British voice sounds.

James sighs and taps his foot. "Which means you haven't flown this thing in over twenty-five years."

Tony scoffs and rolls his eyes. "It's like riding a bike, once you learn you can't forget."

As the words fall out of the Stark's mouth, his armor hums to life. The insides glow a soft blue as the armor plating rotates to fits Tony's body. Each piece interlocks with the next until the whole suit is in one piece again. The docking clamps unlock and release the man of iron from his glass case, his boots landing hard on the step down. James finds himself looking up at the glittering red and gold face of Iron Man, frozen in his place. The blue-lit eye slits and glowing unibeam core overwhelm him with a sense of dread. Something bad is about to go down, but he can't do a thing to stop it. A deep voice echoes from the mask.

"Bruce, did you get what I told you about? The box's label with the project name 'Man Down,' with a code about six digits long. It was a—"

"Small crate in the finished ideas section, yes. I got it while you were deciding if you were gonna involve yourself or not," Bruce finishes. He drags a set of three needled vials of white liquid from his pocket and hands them over to Tony's armored hand.

"You're not actually going to go out there and fight those monsters, are you?" James asks. Tony slips the vials into a compartment in his gauntlet and walks towards the Vault's exit. He stops along the way in search of something, ignoring James as he rants about Pepper and what she'd say.

"Well, I can't sit here and do nothing, besides…this is why I kept a set of armor. And if you're willing," he stops. Tony's armored hands hold out a small wooden box covered in dust and stained from age. James takes the box in hand, blowing the dirt off its surface. He cracks open the lid, drawing it back to reveal a metal cuff. Bigger than a leather armband but smaller than an armguard, the metal cuff shines like new. It has a round dot in the center, and a few buttons on the inside of the wrist. At first, James doesn't understand as he plucks it from its box. But as he eyes it, he realizes he knows exactly what it is he's holding.

"This…this is Dad's holo-Shield. The one he never used," James stops and looks to his uncle. "Why are you giving it to me?"

The face plate on Tony's mask retracts from all sides. "Because if you're up to it, I could use some help. You know, two heroes are better than one."

With a sly smile on his face and expectant looks from the Banner's, James glances around at them like they're crazy. "You can't be serious."

"Look," Tony takes the cuff and slips it over James right hand, locking it on his wrist. He points to the panel on the inner wrist. "This button enlarges it. This one shrinks it. This one shoots a laser on the top here, and this button recalls the shield. It's motion activated so all you have to do is move your arm down."

James looks at Tony dumbfounded and shaking his head. "I can't use this...I'm not a hero. I don't even know how to use a shield. That was Dad's department, not mine."

But Tony smiles at James. "We all gotta start somewhere, right? Now you two," he says, motioning to Blake and Bruce, "stay inside and away from windows. James, if you're coming with me, you better get moving."

Tony walks out of the Vault, but stops out of the doorway, staring back at James. The mask on his helmet closes and he waits. James looks down at the hard light shield cuff still on his wrist and knows one step either way will lead to regret. Regret if his stays behind, and regret if his steps into another war zone. But Tony was right, he can't stay here and do nothing when he has the tools to save lives. The soldier in him won't allow him to stand back like a coward. He pushes out a breath before jogging to meet Tony. The man of iron looks over at him an emotionless, metal face, silently judging him.

"What?" James says. "We can't just stand around. We've got people to save."

 **59th Floor, Stark Tower. 12:23 pm.**

Antonio ushers out the last employee from the 59th floor down the stairs. He takes one last look around the tech department before he heads down the stairs himself. Taking three steps at a time, he rolls up the sleeves on his gray button-down as he goes. Antonio hits the landing and plows into the next room.

"Building wide evacuation! Everyone grab your things and go!" he yells.

There are few people left in the media networking floor, but the ones that are waste no time in doing what's asked of them. They each grab a few things then shuffle past Antonio and down the stairs. After they're out, he walks around the room. He makes sure nothing important got left behind like purses or phones. When the floor is clear, he heads out and onto the next floor. _I'm going to be rolling down these stairs soon,_ he thinks, feeling exhaustion drag his heels down.

The next twenty or so floors blur together. He rushes through each one, telling people to grab their belongings and go. But with each floor, he slows down. Antonio can feel his knees grow weak. His legs start to feel a little like jello and not the delicious, fruity kind you eat mounds of as a kid. By the time he makes it to the 19th floor, he's not breathing normally. He reaches the stairs access door and stops, bending over and propping his hands on his knees to for a breather. I'm gonna kill myself like this, he thinks. Antonio's heart pounds in his chest on the verge of palpitating. His heart wasn't made to work like this, not after all the surgery he went through as a baby. I need to pace myself. He straightens his stance and continues to clear out the floor.

Only a few employees straggle behind in Legal, as most of the lower levels have already evacuated. The last of them snatch up their briefcases and run out of the open floor of desks and tables. Antonio steps towards the windows taking up the entire back wall. He scans the panes, now cracked from the ear-piercing shriek of the feathered freak. Tiny fissures form, creating a kaleidoscope on the glass. Antonio's curiosity drags him closer and as he gazes out, he can make out a blurred shadow through the cracks. But the shadow is growing bigger. And bigger.

"Oh crap," he whispers. Antonio rotates on his heels and runs for the exit as the bird-man crashes through the windows. Glass shards pelt him from behind. He looks back over his shoulder and realizes the glass is nothing compared to the hole in the floor. Antonio stands at the entrance to Legal, frozen on the edge of a precipice to the next floor down. The bird-man, now in clear view, lays in the rubble of desks and concrete for a moment, still and unmoving. Antonio watches, breath hitched as the creature stretches out misshapen red arms. A clawed hand at the end of each jet wing pushes itself up and back through the hole it made in the windows. It plummets out of sight—no doubt back to the fight below— leaving the Stark staring down. Past protruding rebar and broken concrete, a couple of cowering employees below him run to the exit. He grabs his chest to make sure his heart is still beating, then runs to the stairs.

"Dad's gonna be so ticked."

 **Midtown. 12:25 pm.**

"We need to do something now!" Kassidy says. She leans on the ledge of the rooftop she and Marvel find themselves on. They watch as the bird man drags himself from the crater he made in the side of Stark Tower. If Kassidy were more confident in the number of trick-arrows in her bag, she'd go in, bow blazing. But even with her friend's added firepower, she's not sure they can take on these creatures alone.

"I know, but if we try to take them, we'll get squished, or pecked to death…your choice," Marvel offers. "I don't think we can do it alone."

Kassidy purses her lips under her hood, her aqua eyes scanning every inch of Stark Tower. But the sudden bird-like shriek grabs her attention. "Maybe we don't have to."

A scream follows the sound of propulsor shots. Marvel's girlish squealing fades behind Kassidy as she inches to the edge of the roof. She waits for the sight of her Uncle Tony in a suit of shiny red and gold armor. And there he is. A blur of metal and blue lights shoots into the air, sending a barrage of warning shots to the creatures to keep them contained.

"Look! He's coming to us," she says.

Mr. Marvel stares at Kassidy through his mask. "I've never met an Avenger, what do I do?"

"Follow my lead!" The young man nods and they wait as he flies to them. The excitement of seeing Tony in his suit again is overcome by panic when she realizes what's happening. _What am I doing? I can't let him see me!_ The girl shifts her body away as the man lands on the roof, keeping her face out of view.

"Just the two vigilante's I wanted to see," Iron Man says. His voice is deep and computerized, and they look at the old Avenger with raised brows. "Before you ask, yes, I know who both of you are."

"Do you have a plan, Iron Man?" she asks, deepening her voice. _What the heck was that?_

Tony's mask retracts. "I do, but I'm going to need both of you to make it happen."

"We're at your service, sir," Marvel says. Kassidy meets his half salute with an eye roll, but she keeps her gaze trained on the fight below.

"Flyboy, I need you to get down there and block off that end of the street. We need to set up a barricade until SHIELD can get here with a force-field generator," he explains. "Use any force necessary to keep it contained. And before you go, take one of these." The old Avenger twists a round piece of armor on his hip, forcing a storage compartment to jut out. He takes out two earpieces and hands them to each vigilante respectively. "We'll use these to coordinate."

Mr. Marvel takes an earpiece and nods, flying down to the end of the block. He takes a stance in front of the line of police cars gathered.

"What about the other end of the street?" Kassidy asks, slipping the earpiece over her lobe.

"I've already got a guy on it. Say hi, James."

His comment redirects Kassy's attention down to the street below. Her heart almost stops beating when James Rogers' voice carries over the comm. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He's at the other end of the block with nothing more than a helmet on his head and his old motorcycle underneath him. He sits in wait, far enough back that he's not in danger. But, he's close enough that if the creatures started chucking cars again, he'll get plowed into. The girl takes a deep breathe, afraid to ask what Tony wants her to do.

"What's my part in all this?"

A section of Iron Man's right gauntlet detaches and he pulls out three needled vials of something white from the compartment. "I need you to attach these to some arrows and when I give the signal, shoot them at the creatures." He extends his hand, the vials clinking against his armored palm. She blinks hard.

"You want me to do what?"

"The vials can attach to an arrow shaft, so all you have to do is screw them on," he explains. Kassidy arches a brow before she scoffs at the idea.

"Are you crazy? Not only will the weight be off on the arrows, but I'm not even sure I can hit a moving target!" Her head turns back to the fight below her, watching the bird take dives at the reptile. There's no way on earth she can hit them with these darts. "I can't do it."

Tony sighs before he speaks words Kassidy isn't prepared to hear. "Don't even go there, Kassidy."

Her breath hitches. _What did he...did he just..._ "What did you say?"

Iron Man laughs. "Come on, Kassy. You didn't think you could fool me, did you? I've been in this game a long time and I know when someone's got a secret to hide." His hand still holds the vials out for her, but now she looks him in the eyes, aqua to amber. In hindsight, she never thought her identity might be obvious to people who know her. And even though his expression tells Kassy he's preoccupied with what's going on, he stops for just a moment. Just a second in time to remind her that she's important. "I need you to do this."

"Tony, I'm not good with moving targets, I'm not dad," she chokes out the words. She hates admitting she's not good at something. Especially when it concerns archery, but it's true. She's always struggled with moving targets, but a heavy hand on her shoulder drags her from her doubt.

"I know you're probably scared right now, but now is not the time to start doubting your skills. Besides, I don't need you to be your father. I need you to be you right now, Kassidy. And I know you can get this serum into those monsters. We'll try to keep them still long enough for you to shoot," Tony says, winking. "You've got this."

Kassidy stares at him a moment as her breath slows to normal. Her gaze shifts down to the monsters struggling against each other one more time. He's right. There's so much going through her head right now and even more going on around her. How can she not doubt herself in the face of such insurmountable danger? She hasn't faced anything like this before, but he's right. She can do this. She will do this. Right here, right now, she proves to all New York City who Eagle Eye is and what she can do. She only hopes she'll be able to explain all this to Antonio after it's said and done. Her gaze steels and she snatches the vials from Iron Man's hand. She pulls her bag from her back and begins removing arrowheads to fit the vials on three shafts. Tony smiles at her before his mask retracts and his feet lift off the roof. As she fits the pieces together, she keeps her eyes on her uncle. _I wonder how Pepper is feeling about all this...I wonder if the news is even getting all this?_ she thinks.

The last vial finds its home at the end of a shaft as Iron Man flies towards the bird-man circling above the reptile. Kassidy refits her bag over her chest and zooms in on the scene with her goggles. Her sights adjust on the Avenger as he collides with the bird and pushes him to the ground.

"Tony!" she yells, but her voice gets lost in the crash. Bits of concrete and pavement scatter through the air. She nocks an arrow filled with white liquid sloshing down her sights, waiting for the dust to clear. The arrow trains down on the distracted reptile, but within a moment, the monster is going after James. "James, look out!"

"I see him," he says. Below, the soldier's bike roars to life under him as he makes a quick evasion, tires squealing on the road. But the towering reptilian monster pursues. And with the length of his strides, it doesn't take him long to trail James within a few yards. Without any warning, a blur of green shoots through the scene as Mr. Marvel pounds him with energy blasts. James takes advantage of the situation and rides to safety at the other end of the roadblock. James slides to a stop and whips around to see Marvel go at the monster with blast after blast. Unfortunately, his energy only seems to annoy the creature. With meaty, clawed hands, the monster swats at Marvel.

"Marvel, on your twenty!" James says. The hero avoids the slow-moving reptile by flying circles around him. But the creature isn't distracted by his fancy flying. The monster grabs his ankle and sends him hurtling through the air and plowing into the ground. Almost in unison, James and Kassidy call out for their temporary partner's safety. Silence over the comms. Seconds stretch into minutes. The monster moves in closer to Marvel's motionless body. Then, soft groaning carries over their earpieces.

"I'm ok-okay," Marvel moans.

James' mind buzzes with to what to do to protect Marvel, but the only option that sticks is the one around his wrist. He looks down at the holo-shield cuff, trying to remember what Tony told him to activate it. _Was it a button, or was I supposed to move my arm…?_

The soldier looks around for ideas, but his eyes ultimately land on Kassidy, who takes aim at the creature. "Wait!" he yells. "Don't shoot yet!"

"But I have a perfect shot, and if I don't do something now, he'll kill my partner," she explains.

"We need to get him away from your friend in case he falls over—he could crush him." James starts frantically pushing the buttons on his cuff as he jogs towards the creature. James pushes a button that sends a laser beam through the air.

"James, he's almost on him!" Kassidy says.

He fights the urge to curse as he pushes another button that does nothing. "Oh, come on!"

He slings his arms in frustration which activates the shield. He flinches as see-through red, white and blue lights up his forearm. The initial jump-scare subsides and James smiles in triumph. _Now, let's see how bad I am at throwing this thing._ The soldier takes aim at the creature less than one-hundred feet from him. It reaches down and picks a half-conscious Mr. Marvel up by the leg. James slings his arm in its direction and—much to his surprise—the hard-light shield hits the monster square in the chest. It knocks him off his balance and he drops Marvel on the ground as the shield returns. With the reptile reeling from the shock of the hit, an arrow whistles through the air. Its needled tip embeds itself in the creature's neck.

"Yes!" Kassidy yells over the comm. The monster tips over and plows into the ground. James runs over to Marvel while sounds of propulsor shots and angry caws urge him to get to safety. Marvel lays on the ground beside the now unconscious reptile, groaning.

"Hey man, are you all right?" James offers a hand down to the vigilante.

Mr. Marvel—covered in dust, pebbles and scrapes—takes his hand and hauls himself out of the whole he made in the crash.

Across from them at the foot of Stark Tower, Iron Man and the bird come into full view. The two exchange fruitless swings before the fight goes airborne. Tony struggles to keep his winged opponent from getting away. The creature soars into the sky, escaping Kassidy's range and leaving Iron Man behind. His boots explode with a burst of power that pushes him close enough to grab the monster's mangled claw. He drags it down and slings it to the ground not more than ten feet from the two young men. Gravel and bits of pavement pelt the two from the birds crash.

"Get out of the way, you two," Kassidy's voice sounds.

She trains an arrow on the bird as he gets up from his fall. But he recovers quicker than she expected and she releases one of the special arrows. The projectile flies behind him, smashing onto the pavement and shattering. The contents spill, but the arrow catches the attention of the monster. His dead eyes land on Kassidy, still perched on the building across from them.

"Uh oh." No sooner do the words escape her lips when a car comes hurtling towards her. She runs and jumps to the next roof as the airborne vehicle crashes into the ledge and sends chunks of concrete free-falling to the ground. She lands with a roll and pulls out the next arrow.

"Kassy," starts Tony's strained voice. "I don't have any extras!"

"Got it, no more missing," she huffs. Iron Man's shadow covers her as he hovers above and starts shooting little rockets at the bird-man. With one swift motion, the monster covers himself with his fluffy wings and blocks the volley of explosives. He jets into the air with Iron Man and Mr. Marvel hot on his trial of feathers. Kassidy loses track of the target as two new objects enter the warzone from the air, lucky for her, they're familiar.

Twin Quinn jets hover above the roadblocks on each end of the block. They drop two box-like devices from the air and activate a beam of light that shoots into the sky. It then falls back down in the form of a protective dome. The shield stops the bird-man in his tracks and sends him plummeting to the ground. Marvel and Tony take advantage and intercept as he falls. Marvel goes at him first, flying in close and sends a volley of energy blasts toward him. But the bird-man's wings sweep them away. He reaches out a claw of talons after Marvel, but on his midair pivot to escape, he grabs Marvel by the back of the head. The bird jets past Iron Man and plows into the side of the brick building below Kassidy. It drags Marvel's face across the bricks and drops him before whipping around and heading for Tony next.

"Marvel!" James yells. He runs to catch him before he hits the ground, but he's writhing on the sidewalk before he gets to him. James kneels beside him, checking over his injuries. The young man's face gets scraped from side to side from the bricks—his mask torn to shreds. He's wheezing as if he may have internal injuries. Surprised he's still awake, James helps him sit up, making it easier for him to breathe.

"It's just…just not my day, huh?" Marvel chuckles. The Quinn jets land behind the police barricades and unload two dozen agents. The agents rush in for both ends of the block to secure the monster knocked out cold in the middle of the road. The rest take aim at the one still flying above. Several medic agents run over to the guys and get Marvel on his feet. With an agent supporting one side and James on the other, they move the hero towards the jet closest to them.

"Tony, move!" Kassidy says. Her forceful voice sounds over the comms, forcing the guys look up to see what's happening now. With the shield generators blocking the bird-man from escaping, it directs its attacks at Iron Man. They wrestle back and forth, but they won't stay still long enough for the archer to get a good shot. Down the sights, Iron Man is in her view, but that begins to change with the bird in her line of aim. _Come on…I need a clear shot!_ The bird has a hold on Iron Man's hands now and tries to wrestle him down, but Tony's voice comes over the comm with urgency.

"Get ready, Kassy," he says. A moment later his gauntlets shoot visible electricity into the bird's arms, frying the feathers off him. The bird-man lets go and plummets through the air. The needled tip of Kassidy's arrow follows the bird as his limp body falls. She takes in deep breaths, aiming for where he will be and praying she doesn't miss. With one final breath released, her fingers let go of the bowstring and launch the arrow forward. It cuts through the air and jams itself into the bird's side. The force of the arrow pushes the bird to the ground and it lands with a thud, a plume of feathers rising as it crashes. Once its body hits the pavement, the SHIELD agents surround its motionless shape.

"Way to go, Eagle," Marvel's says.

James steps down the ramp of the Quinn jet while Marvel is being tended to by a medic. He takes a quick survey of the scene. Agents examine the unconscious mutated bodies lying within twenty feet of each other. Tony picks up Eagle Eye off the roof and they land near the agents. The man of iron asks the agents for some space as he stoops down next to the mutants. His mask retracts, and he yanks the vial from the reptile's chest. Within an instant, his body begins to slowly shrink. The scales and spikes on his skin shrivel up and fall off. The deep teal skin fades to flesh as Rick Jones' naked body replaces the mutant lying there moments before. Tony does the same with the bird man and the result is the same. SHIELD medics storm the scene and cover the men. They lift them onto stretchers and load them into the jet Marvel's in. The light from the force field begins to disappear and leaves nothing but open sky. Chunks of pavement and concrete clutter the road. Not to mention the all the misplaced cars. The Banners and Antonio emerge from the damaged Stark Tower to meet the heroes in the rubble.

A hand wraps around James' own. "I'm going to check on Marvel," Kassidy whispers. James turns around to nod but she's already halfway to the Quinn jet—out of Antonio's sight.

"Are you guys okay?" Antonio asks. He and the Banners scan the area with dumbfounded expressions. Looking around themselves, the heroes wonder how the damage wasn't worse.

"Yeah, I think we're okay," Tony says. He looks from side to side for his fighting companions but finds only James.

"We saw everything from the security cameras. The guy with the bow and the glow dude, then James with the shield. It was like we were watching a clip from the Avengers historical files," Blake says.

"Girl with the bow," James mumbles. Tony shoots the soldier a raised brow, warning him tread lightly in front of Antonio.

"But you guys are all okay though, right?" Antonio's words ring with worry. James and Tony exchange glances before assuring everyone that they're fine. For the most part. "So, what now?"

"Now," James starts. "We let SHIELD and Damage Control handle it. I'm sure this is their mess anyway."

"I don't think so, I still think the shooter was aiming at me." Blake's preoccupied eyes dart around, checking his surroundings.

"We don't know that," Bruce says. He lays a hand on his son's shoulder, but Blake shakes it off.

"Rick wouldn't have pushed me down if that guy wasn't shooting at me! And now he's…" Blake gestures to his friend's unconscious body being carried via stretcher towards a Quinn jet. Him, along with another victim of whatever is going on. "I'm responsible."

Bruce shakes his head. "No, you are not responsible. We'll figure this out."

"Your dad's right, Sport. We'll figure out what's going on and keep you safe." As the words leave Tony's lips, the vibrating pow of a gunshot tears through the conversation.

"Blake, get down," Antonio yells. He whips around and grabs the teen, pushing him to the pavement, but his reaction isn't quick enough. A small tranq dart pierces Blake's shoulder and the green liquid inside sloshes down into his veins. He collapses in his father's arms and they lower his shivering body to the ground. An arrow flies in the direction of the shooter, and the Archer stands on the jet ramp, her bow at attention. Iron Man takes off to catch the shooter before he disappears. But all eyes turn to Blake as they wait for the inevitable, for the shift from human to mutant. But the change doesn't come. Instead, the teen's body shudders and gasps for air as though he's having an allergic reaction.

"Somebody…we need a medic!" Bruce's shaking voice calls out. A violent trembling takes over Blake while James yells and waves over two agents.

"What happened?" one asks, slipping on a pair of rubber gloves.

"I think he got shot with the same stuff that turned the other two," Antonio says.

The doctors ask call for a stretcher as the kneel to examine Blake. They rest their hands on him to calm his shaking, but it only worsens. He's choking now, but he's not changing. The heavier of the two medics pushes the group crowding him back, asking for space.

"That's my son," Bruce says. Trembling, Bruce struggles to keep it together as they lift Blake's frail body onto a stretcher. The medics take him to the jet with the other wounded.

"Go," James tells Bruce. The man runs after his only child, insisting they not remove the dart until they arrive at a hospital. Kassidy moves out of the way of the medics as she watches for Tony to return. Within second the jet begins to roar to life and lift into the air, blowing dust and debris at it ascends.

"Where are they taking him?" she calls. Her voice is almost audible over the hissing wind from the Quinn jet's engines. But her words must catch Antonio's attention. His stare tears from the jet disappearing into the sky and lands on the girl as she approaches he and James. Not paying attention to what she's doing, she walks up to them. Her hood is on and goggles still fashion her face. But in the daylight, it's hard to mistake someone you've known all your life for a guy.

"Kassy?" Antonio words shaken and riddled with fear of the girl's answer. But when she realizes what she's done, it's too late to try to hide her face, or mask her voice. It's too late to take back the lies and the excuses, too late to patch up their friendship by telling him the truth her way. This is how he finds out, in the middle of a battlefield by accident. Perfect.

She pulls back her hood and loosens her goggles so they hang around her neck. "Antonio, let me explain…"

"No…no, no, no," he says. His head shakes back and forth, pushing away the hand James offers for comfort. "And you knew, didn't you!"

James flinches at the sudden spike in volume. Kassidy shoots James a glance, asking him to give them a minute. "They only reason he knew was because I asked for advice about how to tell you. Don't blame him."

"You're right, you are absolutely right...I blame you! Howie's always the last one to know, right? Couldn't trust me, is that is?" Antonio wipes the tears forming in his electric eyes.

"It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me wanting to protect you!" Kassidy explains. But from the expression his face has shifted to and the look in his eyes, she knows she'll lose any further words on him. "I didn't want it to be this way…"

"Too late," he says. And with that, he turns on his heels and walks towards his father as he lands across the yard, empty handed.

Kassidy, frozen in her place, swallows hard. James stands beside her once more, his arm around her shoulders as they slump. She looks at him with watering eyes. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this," she repeats.

He pulls her into a hug. "I know." James watches Antonio interacting with his father. Their conversation has turned into an argument. But the angry hand gestures halt when an agent approaches them and begins to tell them something. The agent jets past them and walks towards James and Kassidy. "Kassy," he says. She pulls away from him as the agent arrives in front of them.

"Director Johnson has called a meeting for everyone involved. Please make your way to the jet." His words come out dry and plain before he begins strutting back towards the jet. Both James and Kassidy furrow their brows before following him. As they near the small jet, the agent and Antonio begin arguing.

"I didn't even do anything! Why do I have to go when I wasn't a part of the fighting?" he says.

"Get in the plane, Howie," Tony says. "I'll meet you at the Helicarrier." Iron Man's facemask clinks back together and he jets into the sky, leaving his confused and hurt son behind. Antonio looks over at his friends before he trudges up the ramp. He makes sure to sit as far away from James and Kassidy as possible.

"He needs some space," James offers her as they follow.

They strap into the seats built into the inside the walls of the fourth generation Quinn jet. The agent with the orders climbs aboard as the ramp closes, taking his place in the cockpit. And the three friends prepare for the longest fight from one end of town to the other.

 **SHIELD Helicarrier. 12:47 pm.**

As soon as the jet stops on the Helicarrier runway, Kassidy unclasps her seatbelt. The ramp lets down and she starts asking the agents for Marvel's location. When one gives her the answer she wants she dart across the landing strip and finds her way inside. After she disappears, James and Antonio to follow behind their escort. He weaves them through the traffic of scrambling agents inside to the quiet of an empty elevator. The elevator takes them down several levels, but the floor they get off on is empty. No busy agents running around, no orders yelled over an intercom. Only a silent hallway with dozens of doors to choose from on either side. The agent leads them to a room near a big window at the end of the hall. A room with a two-door entrance and keypad that locks behind them as soon as James and Antonio are thrust in.

Several floors above, Markus sits slumped over and eyes closed on a cold, metal table. Everything aches. His ankle, his ribcage, his face. It's all throbbing and bleeding and burning. He hasn't felt this bad since he blew up his high school science lab. His emerald eyes crack open, drifting down to his swelling ankle. He breathes in roughly and sighs, groaning at how painful it is to breathe. And to think he was just starting to heal from that gut-punch the other night. Of all the things he could've done today—worked, chilled at home after his shift or reorganizing his wall—he ended up in SHIELD's first aid waiting on some crazy doctor who keeps disappearing in a room behind him. But, no matter how much pain he's in, or the damage he may have caused during the fight, it was worth it. It was worth it to get rid of all that built up energy, worth it to work alongside freaking Iron Man. He shakes his head. As unbelievable today has been for Markus, he still can't rid his gut of the feeling of impending doom.

Markus flinches as the door to first aid shirks open, and his partner walks in. She stands in the doorway, looking beautiful, staring at his wounded body up for display on the table.

"Hi," she says. She walks towards him, never once taking her eyes off his face.

"Hi." The girl stands beside him, propping her hands on his shirt and leather jacket laid beside him. She runs her fingers over the fabric absentmindedly, as if searching for something to say. Markus helps her out by speaking first. "So, Kassidy huh?"

Her head snaps his way, offering a small smile after the shock subsides.

"Yeah. I guess you heard my name enough over the comms, right?"

Markus smirks through the pain. "I did," he pauses, holding out a hand. "Markus, nice to meet you."

She shakes his hand, a hint of a blush on her grimy cheeks. Eagle Eye, Kassidy, whatever her name is, Markus knows there's something special about her. In a moment of clarity, something clicks between them. Or at least he thinks something clicked. Everything got blurry after the doctor reappeared and started yelling about visitors.

"You haven't even been here ten minutes and you already have guests. Well, let me replaces those bandages and be gone, your highness." The doctor, a short man with wild, frizzy hair and reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He drops a small silver tray on the table next to Markus, arranging the items on it just so. Oversized bandages soak up the blood from his scratches, but they're caked and dried up. The doctor snatches the bandages from Markus' face. He takes cotton balls drenched in something off his tray to wipe on the cuts. It's cold and smells harsh but doesn't burn as it makes contact with his raw flesh. The cold is then replaced with cream and a large cotton patch.

"No more visitors while I'm gone," he says. The doc disappears again in the back room, leaving the heroes to laugh.

"What is he on?" Kassidy whispers.

"No idea." They snicker a moment more but Markus' attention stays on his partner. It's true he'd seen her before, her face. He'd even wondered who she was and who she was friends with. Or if they would be friends outside of their night jobs should the circumstances change. But now, only a few days after meeting her, he's involved in her life, and she in his. This was not how he imagined this partnership would go, but he wonders now if things will change after this. They've lost any barriers against trusting each other, but what if all this is more than the two of them? What if the situation has changed already, and he hasn't realized it. _We are on a first name basis now…_ he thinks.

"What I'm about to do will be strange," says the doctor. He materializes in front of his unassuming patient with no tools or bandages, only his hands. He squats down at the hero's feet dangling off the table and wraps a hand around the sprained ankle.

"What are you doing?" Kassidy asks. The concern on her face draws a smirk from Markus. But when the tight muscles in his ankle start to loosen he looks down to see the doc's hands glowing.

"Hey, what the heck?"

"Hold still, I'm almost done," he says, stilling the man's nervous leg. The glowing continues for a minute longer, and the doc asks if his ankle is hurting anymore. With his answer being no, the doctor removes his hands and straightens.

"Good, the quicker I heal you the quicker you can get out of here and leave me in peace." The doctor places his hands on Markus' torso, and the glowing starts again. At first, there's only a tickle in his ribcage, but as seconds tick by the tickle gets replaced with a creepy feeling. He looks down at his ribs to see if what he feels is happening. His skin twists and rotates as if something under it is moving. "You've got two fractured ribs and you're bruised from you face to your toes, but bruises can heal. As soon as your ribs finish mending themselves, you may leave."

"Good," a fourth voice enters the scene. A young man, short yet lean, stands in the entrance tapping his wrist in a "pick-up-the-pace" fashion. "Director wants to see these two."

The doctor scoffs at his fellow SHIELD agent. "She'll see them when I'm done."

The agent rolls his dark eyes before backing out of the doorway. Markus assumes he's waiting outside for them. He's about to tell Kassidy to go on when the doc proclaims he's done and forces them out. Without being asked, Kassidy picks up his shirt and jacket. In the hallway, they ask for a minute for Markus to put his clothes back on and again, without asking, she helps him. He lifts his arms and she slides his t-shirt over his head, combing his thick jet hair with her fingers. He watches her every moment, and when their eyes meet, she smirks.

"You have to look decent if you're going to meet the Director."

"Thanks," he says. He slips on his jacket with a little more help, they follow behind the agent. Kassidy's hand supports his back as he limps down the hall with her.

 **Meeting Room, SHIELD Helicarriar. 12:59 pm.**

The anger adds to the electricity in Antonio's eyes. Kassidy enters the room with her "friend" limping. Her arm is around his body, both of them dressed in ridiculous outfits. He can't stop staring at her as she offers a chair for the hero at the small table centering the room. James sits opposite of him, but he and Kassy exchange glances and cause Antonio to scoff even more.

 _How could she have told him and not me?_ he thinks. _How could she not trust me with this…what was she thinking?! Why am I getting left out of everything lately?_ As his thoughts continue to make a downward spiral into the depths of the pity-pool, he catches a glimpse of Kassidy looking his way. Her eyes dart away, but his gaze stays on her long after she's turned her attention towards the men at the table. From across the room, Antonio sees dust and sweat that's become grim on her face. With matching smears on her jeans and hoodie. James looks dusty too, and Antonio can't even begin to describe how bad the other guy looks. But his focus never strays from his golden-haired friend for more than a minute. She's stiff and holds her frame in an awkward manner next to the table as they wait for the Director.

 _I don't even know why I'm here, I didn't do anything,_ he thinks. But as the seconds tick by, the stirring in his gut tells him something huge is about to happen. Bigger than stealing blueprints from the Vault. Bigger than Mutants tearing up Stark Tower. Even bigger than finding out your best friend is a vigilante. This situation is beyond his own comprehension but Antonio can think of one thing. _Why does all the weird stuff always happen to me?_

"Do you think we're in trouble?" A question directed at no one breaks the tension suffocating the room. Antonio looks at the man responsible for the obvious question. And before he realizes it, harsh words begin spilling from his mouth.

"What do you think? Of course we're in trouble! You guys trashed a whole block's length of road. Not to mention the damage to Stark Tower, and you're going to ask a stupid question like that?" Antonio says. His volume increases as his words stop, but he didn't expect them to come across so critical.

"Hey, leave him alone, okay? It's a valid question, you don't have to be a jerk to him because you're mad at me," Kassidy says. She jabs a finger his direction, a scowl consuming her features.

"And you didn't have to leave me out of one of the most important things in your life!" he combats.

"I didn't leave you out, I didn't know how to tell you!" she yells.

James stands and slams his hands on the table. "Stop it! Both of you. There are more important things going on right now."

"Easy for you to say, she told you the truth as soon as you got home," Antonio says. His hands outstretched in judgmental gesturing, James tethered to the table. They open their mouths to continue. But before the yelling begins, the entrance slides open and the woman they've been waiting for walks in.

Director Daisy Johnson stands by the doorway. Her piercing blue eyes watch it slide shut and lock behind her. She redirects her gaze at the four of them with their mouths hanging open. James gets over his stupor and salutes the woman. He stands straight and stiff until she returns the gesture. The vigilante tries to stand but she tells him to stay seated. Considering his current physical state, it's best he sit. Kassidy gives a halfhearted nod, but Antonio stares without a word—or even a sound—uttered. He scans her up and down, from her shiny black combat boots to her fitted black SHIELD uniform. The heavy armored gloves she wears grasp a small round device. Her face, framed by her short ebony hair, is thin and sharp. The very presence of her makes Antonio wonder even more why he's here. But his insecurities don't stop him from blurting out questions.

"What happened to Blake? Is he okay?"

Johnson isn't taken back by his urgent questioning. Her calm exterior sets the tone for the room, clearing out any question is to whether they're in trouble. "Mr. Banner is stable. They transported him to our Gamma Response Unit for proper care. But I'm sure with Doctor Banner leading his treatment, he'll be fine."

Kassidy's voice speaks up, quiet and soft. "Will you let us know if anything changes?"

"I will," Johnson nods.

"Sir," James starts. "What's happening here?"

"I promise we were only trying to help with the mutants!" the other guy says.

"At ease! None of you are in trouble, but what I'm about to discuss is sensitive information. It can't leave this room," says the Director. "Understood?"

Antonio nods in agreement with the others and the Director places the device in hand on the table. Small like a jewelry box, the device lights up with the press of a button. She motions for Kassidy and Antonio to come closer to see the presentation unfolding. The little box shoots a holographic file into the air and the Director taps it. It expands into pictures and reports that float above their heads. The group pushes through some of the items, but none of it makes sense.

"What is all this?" Antonio asks, looking around.

"That's a good question, Mr. Stark. In the past six months, some of my undercover agents have found that someone is buying a lot of illegal items. Including but not limited to guns, tech, armor and vehicles components," she says.

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad," the vigilante says.

 _Shows what you know,_ Antonio thinks.

"We didn't think so at first either, Mr. Marvel," Johnson continues. Antonio finds it difficult to focus on the Director. Mr. what's-his-name has grin plastered on his face after the Director's acknowledgment. "But when my agents investigated, they started finding more than a shopping spree. All transactions went back to an offshore account under several different aliases. Problem is, we can't trace who the aliases belong to."

The young Stark rolls his eyes at SHIELD's incompetence over a simple task. "I fail to see what any of that has to do with what happened today."

Kassidy's aqua eyes cut at Antonio's attitude, but her arguing eyes don't deter him. "If you'll stop asking questions for two seconds, she'll answer you."

"Oh, you'd love for me to stop asking questions, wouldn't you?" he combats. Kassidy, looking ready to deck him, curls her fists at her sides. Antonio holds his disapproving stare, making sure to look extra disapproving.

"Now I've had just about enough of this!" James says. He narrows his blueberry eyes at them—the blue glow from the display making them more intense. And after a few seconds of scorns, they stand down. "Go ahead, Director." James settles in his seat, shooting Antonio a glare.

"Thank you, Agent Rogers," Johnson says. She raises an ebony brow as she continues. "We made the connections you were asking about, Mr. Stark, when we started picking up radio chatter. There've been rumors amongst the street thugs too. They mention other criminals missing, or reappearing changed."

Marvel-boy turns his head back to meet Kassidy's gaze and the two have a quick and wordless exchange. "That would explain the weird guys Mark—Marvel and I have been running into this week. I mean, these guys had some serious kick but looked like normal guys."

 _Did-did she cover for his real name? So, they've been consorting long enough for them to be on a first name basis, great,_ Antonio thinks. _One more to the list of people who know more about her than I do._ "But that still doesn't explain what happened today. Why was someone after Blake?" Antonio adds.

The Director spreads out contents of the holofile in the air. "I don't know, my assumption is they wanted to turn him Gamma, but failed. Whoever these people are, they're organized, direct and serious about causing trouble. We've been monitoring their radio frequencies and we knew something was going down—"

"Wait a minute, you knew what these people were planning?" Antonio asks.

"Now before you go bringing down the hammer of judgment on us, Mr. Stark," she points a finger his way. "We were unaware of any time, place or motive. All we knew is that they were planning something that was riling up the criminal community. We prepared as best we could under the circumstances."

"The circumstances? Why didn't you notify the police or the military or something!" Antonio spouts.

"We are the military, Mr. Stark," Johnson says. Her voice is calm and collected, but the underlying harshness is enough to shut Antonio up for now. This is not a woman he needs to make angry. "And what do you suppose we were to tell them? Hello NYPD? This is the Director of SHIELD calling about a possible terror threat we know nothing about. But, we do have intel that they're planning something, but not enough intel to give you any details. Work with that, thanks."

"She's right," James speaks up. "This isn't something you can take to the police. It takes months of surveillance and spying to get the kind of information you can go to the military or cops with."

Marvel looks clueless. But during his glancing around he asks an intelligent question for once. "So, what does this have to do with us?"

The question sets off something in the Director piercing blues, her expression shifting. To what, Antonio's not sure. The four, sitting and standing, watch her pull something from the back of the file emptied on the table top. Another folder floats towards the center of the mass of information, unopened. With nimble fingers, the Director shrinks down the rest and taps the folder open. Within it, she pulls out a profile of each person in the room—including Antonio. A detailed write up, with skills and physical attributes in nice organized, color-coded boxes. Personality types highlighted in different colors, even personal backgrounds in short summaries. All the while Antonio wants to know how they got this information. The things listed are out there for all SHIELD to have at their fingertips. This is why their parents insisted they stay away from SHIELD and heroing. They knew it would lead to this—an invasion of privacy. Yes, Kassidy and James gave up their privacy during their time in the SEET program and the Guard. But Antonio and Marvel-boy? They weren't anywhere near Barton and Rogers' level of submittance.

"What…what is all this?" Marvel asks. Bewilderment covering his injured face, he looks at his floating file. Marked with information about his life, or what little bit is on his profile compared to the others.

"We've been watching you kids. Waiting for the right moment to spring our idea on you," Johnson says. Her expression is hard to read, it's almost as if she's enjoying this moment, or dreading it.

"What idea?" Kassidy asks.

"If there was any other way, I'd take it. But there's not. So here it is." The Director huffs a weighted sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. She looks around the room as of checking for intruders, even though she said herself it's secure. "It's not that I don't have enough evidence to take to the government or even the police. It's that the World Security Council won't allow it." She cuts off her sentence, as if her words are blasphemy.

"They don't think that SHIELD has enough ground or proof that something's up to work proactively against it. They don't want to, oh how did they put it, 'alarm the public' with above average activity," she says. Her air quotations warrant puzzled glances.

"So, you mean to tell me, that the WSC is refusing to recognize this because they don't want to upset people?" Antonio asks. Johnson nods, and for the first time since they've been together, the four offer the same confused faces.

"I've pushed for more resources to investigate, but all I get is a bunch of talk. And the worst part, they've taken my people from me. I can't even trust any of my agents, except for a select few because of the authority imbalance. Which, Mr. Stark, is why you're all here. I'd like to assemble a team under the radar to look into all this. Because if I can't even trust my own agents, then the only ones I can trust are outside of SHIELD," the Director concludes.

Silence weighs down the room as the proposition hangs around the four like a dead duck. How are they supposed to respond? Even James looks as if he's struggling to swallow the idea. How could this be happening to them? To Antonio? There no easy way out of this one. No clever quip, or half-hearted excuse. This can't go away. It won't. Not until it's resolved. Even with the Director's vast array of resources, she asks four young people with lives, hopes, and goals of their own, to save the world. And save it before it knows it needs saving. Because that's what she's asking here. She doesn't want a team of investigators. She wants a team of heroes to stop whatever it is rising from the depths of the Criminal Underworld. And it scares the crap out of him.

"Guys, I know this is a lot to take in, but trust me, I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't the only option I had left. The world needs you, Blake needs you, and I need you," she says. Her added words don't make their decision any easier. But it wasn't as hard a decision as Antonio thought as all eyes turn to Kassidy, the first to speak.

"I'm sorry Director, but I'm not a team player and I'm not about to work for SHIELD. I've got enough problems of my own, I don't need to worry about yours too," she says.

 _Why did she look at me when she said problems?_ Antonio thinks. Johnson huffs a disappointed sigh but gestures to the door. She tells her to knock on the door when she wants to leave. Kassidy steps towards the door and knocks. The door slides to, but she looks around before she steps out.

"I'm sorry," she says as she leaves. She walks out, just like that. Like it was that easy to say no. _Was it that easy for her to lie to me?_

The Director shifts her attention to James. "Mr. Rogers?"

Panic toils in James' eyes. He closes them, takes a deep breath in and out, then stands from his chair. His eyes open again and his expression cuts off any emotion. "With all due respect, Director, I must decline. I just came out of a war, I don't want to go into another one." The soldier takes his leave. The Director watches James as he disappears through doorway. Her hands relax and her fingers intertwine as she turns back to the others.

"Looks like you two are all that's left. Marvel?"

The man struggles to stand from his chair, ascending to a stiff upright position. Antonio can almost hear his bones creaking. "You know, I'm really honored and stuff Ms. Director, but you can't have a team with two dudes, right? I would—in a heartbeat—but I don't think I can. I'm really sorry. But thank you for considering me."

"I wouldn't have chosen anyone else, Markus," she says. He smiles and she offers a hand to steady him as he hobbles to the open door where an agent takes him from there. Once he's out of view, the Director looks back at files still floating in the air. She presses a button on the side of the device and turns it off. Her body straightens with a knowing anticipation as she looks to Antonio. "Your answer, Mr. Stark?"

Antonio mulls over the question. He parts his lips several times to speak but stops himself as the right words escape him. Of all the things floating around in his head, one thought has plagued him all day—all week even—comes out. His head drops as he utters his question. "Why me?"

"Excuse me?" the Director says.

Antonio shrugs his shoulders and raises his head. "Why me? I mean, of all the people you could've asked, why me? Why not Dad, or any of the other Avengers still around? They have more to offer than I do, right?"

Johnson stares with at him an unmoving expression, but as their eyes lock, her features soften. "Do you think it was an accident that I chose you—or any of the others. Do you think I threw together your profiles or picked you by chance, or maybe for your last names? Antonio, I took time and considered each of your skills, talents, personalities. I knew you were the right kids for the job from the beginning. I need your technological expertise, your creativity and ideas. I don't need your father. He's done his part and he's tired, like the rest of the old Avengers. It's time for a new generation to take the initiative. I need each of you because whatever happened out there today isn't going to stop. These people had a reason for going after Blake Banner, and they won't stop until they do whatever they've come on scene to do. I can't sit by and let something like this go."

"I…" Antonio starts, unsure of where to go. She's right. She's doing the right thing here and as much as his mind is fighting with itself over what to do, he can't do this. His brain kicks into autopilot and words he prepared at the beginning of the conversation spill out. "I can't. I'm not the right guy for the job. I'm sorry Director, but you'll have to figure this out another way. I'm no hero."

The woman sighs, her piercing eyes closing for a long pause. When they open again she motions Antonio to the door, telling him to leave when he wants. Antonio watches her for a moment before he takes his leave of the room. He walks away, just like that. Leaving SHIELD and their problems behind.

* * *

 **A/N:** Drop questions, comments, concerns, ideas, social security number, thoughts. Whatever you want to say...

 **Up Next:** The Aftermath, or What Now?


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